#and refused to accept her brother's death

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Part 4

Here's your next part of the Ghost!Robin fic for WIP Wednesday. I'm gonna start putting fic designation in the title field rather than WIP Wednesday because I think it makes it easier to read.

Also, everyone came out in numbers for last week's segment! Damn! Thank you and I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this little fic of mine. We'll probably get one more week of this before I go back to Bring Me Home, but it'll depend what I feel like. I want to rework some of what I have written next.

First, Previous

1.1k words + a 464 word Omake (cut scene)

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Tim asked more details on the specs of the PDA which Danny happily answered. The things he built with Tucker were always his favorite inventions.

“So are you in school to become an engineer or something?” asked Dick who’d gotten Damian calmed down and sitting. The boy had gotten his knife back and was spinning it in his hands. Bruce seemed to be fondly exacerbated by the scene. Robin had pulled out a ghostly weapon and was trying to copy Damian’s movements, though he wasn’t quite as adept.

Danny shook his head to Dick’s question. “Nah. Hard to get into engineering school when you fail high school.” Danny narrowed his eyes as Damian’s mouth opened, but Dick whispered in his ear again and the boy didn’t say anything.

“I ended up dropping out of high school and getting a GED,” said Tim. “It can work just as well.”

Robin was nodding along and pointing at himself, too. Had he died before he could complete his schooling, too?

“I’m sure. It’s just not a priority for me right now. I don’t need one for my job and I can’t become an astronaut because of my accident when I was fourteen.”

Dick was nodding, but Tim looked confused and asked, “Fourteen? I thought you had your accident when you were older?”

“Why would you think that?” Had he or Jazz made any reference to when his accident was? “No, it happened when I was fourteen. A few weeks before I started my freshman year of high school.

Before Tim could ask anything else, Steph called out from the other side of the room. “Did you say you wanted to be an astronaut? Totally awesome. What made you pick that?”

“I honestly don’t know why everyone doesn’t want to be astronauts! Space is so cool. We can learn so much about the universe by studying it in closer detail. And with how many aliens are now living at least part time on Earth, it only makes sense to explore and see what else might be out there.”

Bruce nodded at him. “I am sorry you aren’t able to become one.”

Danny just waved a hand in the air. “I came to terms with it a long time ago. And my current job is fine. Might not be what I would’ve chosen, but I’ve made it work for me.” Deciding he should change the subject before someone had the brilliant idea to ask more about his accident or job, he asked, “So what is for dinner, anyway? You’ve all talked about how amazing the food is, but what are we having?”

Someone tried to speak up, but Jason held up a hand. “I’m the one who helped Alfie cook. Demon-brat is vegetarian so we have a vegetarian curry. If you like meat, there’s a prime rib roast. Then a half dozen different sides—vegetables, rice, potatoes. Huge salad with all the fixings and a dozen different dressings to choose from. And dessert after.”

“Damn, that sounds amazing. I haven’t had a good home cooked meal in ages, so I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Has your Grandpa been keeping you that busy?” asked Jazz.

“That, but also getting things in order to take this evening off. There’s just been a lot. I’m spending the night at yours, by the way.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Danny knew he could rely on Jazz.

“Ooh, do you have any good stories about Jazz as a kid?” asked Jason.

Laughing, Danny said, “So many! But I don’t think we’ll be able to get to those tonight. I’ve a feeling you’ll be interested in other things by that point.” At his words, Robin grinned and pointed at himself. Danny gave him a slight nod to confirm that yes, they’d be talking about him.

Before Jason could ask for clarification, Alfred came in to announce dinner was ready.

Robin cheered and flew over to sit on Alfred’s shoulders, hand extended, to lead the way to the dinning room. Danny couldn’t hold back the chuckle and Jazz shot him a look which he ignored.

“There better be a place setting for you, Alfie!” called Jason as they followed.

“You made your opinion quite clear, Master Jason. And as I wish to meet your young lady and her brother as well, I have set myself a plate at the main table.”

Tim leaned over to whisper to Danny. “Alfred considers his role as butler very important. He rarely eats with the rest of us unless we join him in the kitchen.”

Danny nodded to show he understood, but had no idea how to actually reply to that. It seemed needlessly complicated.

Once they made it to the dining room, Danny grinned as Robin did a flip off of Alfred’s shoulders and landed sitting down on one of the place settings facing the associated chair. He bit his cheek to keep from laughing as Jason sat down at that same place. Jazz took a seat next to him and Danny sat to her other side. Dick ended up sitting next to him.

The scents of all the food wafting off the table made his mouth water and he closed his eyes just to breathe it in. “This smells amazing. Thanks Alfred. And Jason.”

Even Robin had moved to look over every dish, reaching out a hand to try and take something and sighing when he just phased through it.

Even Jazz looked a bit overwhelmed at the quantity of food. “This is so much effort. You didn’t have to do all this just for Danny and me.”

Bruce smiled at her. “It is so rare for all of us to be together for dinner so we make a spectacle of it any time it happens. And this is the first time Jason has ever brought anyone with him which makes it an even bigger event.”

Danny nudged her. “So, Jazz, what’s it like living with someone who can cook?”

Jason laughed. “Jazz isn’t allowed in the kitchen. You know, I caught her grabbing my chef’s knife before going into the fridge the other day!”

Danny furrowed his brow. “Of course she did. It’s a fridge.”

“Wait, is that a family trait? Why do you grab a knife to open the fridge? There’s gotta be a good story behind that.”

Before Danny could make the obvious statement regarding attacking food, Jazz elbowed him. “We’ll tell you later. It has to do with our parents and that’s a large topic and not one we should get into now.”

Before Danny could ask any questions about what the big deal was, Dick nudged him. “Which do you want—curry or beef?”

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Omake

Ignoring all of it, Danny shook his head and answered Dick. “Nah. Hard to get into college when you fail high school and are legally dead.”

Multiple people, including Jason, exclaimed at that statement and he looked to Jazz.

“Did Jazz not tell you about that? Our parents swear they saw my ghost and had me declared legally dead. I was missing at the time so the coroner agreed. Sighting the ghost of a missing person is all you need to confirm death in Amity.”

Under her breath, Jazz added, “You were only missing because they had you.”

Danny elbowed her and quietly chirped a Safe now.

Bruce was no longer smiling and was looking at Danny with narrowed eyes. “Your parents had you declared dead.”

“Yeah. It’s fine, though. I’ve an amazing doctor if I get into trouble. My grandfather is watching out for me. I’m financially stable. My partners are able to rent an apartment large enough for all three of us. I have other places to stay when I’m traveling. Honestly, it doesn’t impact my life all that much. Just means I’m not gonna go to college. And only reason I wanted to go to college was to be an astronaut, but my health makes that impossible.”

“Hn…” Bruce hummed.

And Danny had no idea what that meant, but Robin was now laughing, and Dick was exchanging grins with Tim, and Steph and Cass were whispering together. Damian was glaring at him even harder, blade hilt gripped in his hand. These people were strange.

Danny looked over at Jazz who shrugged. Jason was glaring at Bruce and said, “Don’t you dare.”

“Look, it’s really not a big deal. I know it’s kinda a messed up situation, but ghosts are generally treated really well in Amity. As well as any living human, at least. So long as you avoid the Guys in White and my parents that is. So outside of interactions with them, nothing has changed.”

“If you are ever in need of a place to stay or a meal or anything, you’ll have a room here,” offered Bruce.

Robin landed on Danny’s shoulders and was sending out happy-celebrate feelings. Steph handed Cass a few bills. Tim and Dick mimed giving each other fist bumps. Jason put his head in his hands and groaned. Duke was grinning at them all.

Damian half stood and said, “Father—!”

But Dick was at his side and pulling him back down to the couch with an arm around his shoulders, hand over his mouth, and whispering into his ear before he could do more than say the one word.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal.” Trying to think of anyway to change the subject, he asked, “So what’s for dinner, anyway?”

And for the Tag List! (Which absolutely exploded this week. Holy shit.)

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The celebration post for 100 followers will be going out in another day or two! I've just had a really busy few weeks and didn't do as much writing as I was hoping for. But I hope to finish writing today and then I'll just take a few hours to edit.

[fourteenthz]

LOVE AND PEACE ON FUCKING PLANET EARTH

[imperiuswrecked]

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian babies that were left to starve to death then rot in their beds by the IOF.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian doctors surrounded by bodies of dead children begging the world to stop the slaughter.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian children who held a press conference in English to beg the world to stop murdering them because they want to live.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian Priest who said "We will not accept your apology after the genocide" to the world.

I'm never forgetting the Palestinian Imam who used the speakers of the Mosque, not to call people to prayer but to call out to God while the world around them was burning from American supplied Israeli bombs.

I'm never forgetting the grandfather who held his dead grandchild in his arms. Or the father carrying the remains of his two children in plastic shopping bags. Or the mother holding her dead child in a shroud. Or the father sitting among the rubble after he lost his whole family. Or the girl trapped under a broken building begging for people to save her family first. Or the boy who cried when he saw his brother alive. Or the girl who asked if she was still alive after being pulled from the rubble. Or the boy who carried the remains of his brother in his backpack. Or the old man the IOF used for a photoshoot before they shot him dead after getting pictures. Or the little boy wearing plastic gloves to pick up the remains of his family. Or the graves desecrated. Or the body of that small baby girl left alone in a tent because no one knew who she was or if her family was alive, small and alone and not one person who knew her name to bury her. Or the young boy who was shot in the street while his sister watched from the window. Or the men and boys who were stripped naked in winter. Or those tortured. Or those made to stand in open graves. Or the people who were raped by IOF soldiers. Or Palestinian workers kidnapped by the IOF and then labeled with wristbands, each one reduced to a number, then made to walk back to Gaza to be killed in the world's largest open air concentration camp. Or the people of Gaza starving because Israeli Zionists are blocking aid trucks. Or the Israelis dancing and celebrating the death of Palestinians. Or the lies spread by Zionists and their supporters. Or the people profiting off the oppression and deaths of Palestinians. Or the people of the West Bank being killed or kidnapped by the IOF. Or old woman who was older than the creation of the terror state of "Israel" who was shot by snipers for saying that. Or the Israelis dressed up as Palestinians to enter a hospital and kill three Palestinians in their beds. Or every single Palestinian currently kept in an Israeli prison. Or the journalists, doctors, poets, men, women, children, and the unborn all massacred. Or the fact that WCNSF exists now. Or the woman who refused to wash the blood from her hands. Or the dead, unburied and unmourned.

I'm never forgetting those who chose silence in the face of a genocide.

I may not know all their names but I will not forget the over 30,000 Palestinians dead. Or the over 60, 000 people hurt. Or the unknown number of people missing, still lost under the rubble. Or the 12,000 children slaughtered. An entire generation crippled or murdered.

I will never forget these things when Palestine is free.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Tim doesn’t rest, not even in Death.

It’s a heart attack that gets him, well, that and the insane amount of fear toxin flooding his system. He was dead for a full three minutes before he watches (how was he watching?) his eldest brother get his heart going again and get his unconscious body to the cave. Alfred gets him onto bat-life support and Leslie looks gravely at his family after she’s done her best to heal him. They decide to keep trying, they don’t want to believe he’s gone.

Tim watches in fury. He’s more useful than this, he’s not just going to die and let the family mourn him! Tim sets to work trying to understand what’s happened to him and he realizes he must be a ghost. Therefore, if he wants to understand ghosts he needs to go where ghosts are, and thankfully he just read a JLD doc saying to avoid Amity Park at all costs.

It’s takes him a second to get used to flying at full speed, but he finds himself surrounded by strange people in a strange town and… he notices himself becoming more visible. He’s able to interact with more and more objects, he even picked up a pencil! Poltergeist is a step forward in his plan, Tim accepts this change of pace.

Then Tim meets Danny, a normal human kid who looks like he could be brought into the manor and given a cape, who looks straight at him.

“Wait, who are you? You didn’t die in Amity did you?”

“No, I died in Gotham. I came here to understand how I’m a ghost and how I can get back to my dying body. I just need a few answers.” Tim explains, and notices that his voice isn’t his own, like it’s a different language entirely that comes out.

“Well, uh, I dunno about going back to your body but it’s not safe for you to be here. The GIW are looking for lost souls like you that people won’t notice go missing. So get back to your family and find peace. Im sorry but that’s really the best advice I have.” Danny answers.

Tim begs him for answers on the GIW. Begs him for any answers at all. Danny shrugs him off each time, tell him that he’s just a ghost and he needs to move on before he gets hurt or becomes a problem.

Tim decides if he’s a problem, he’ll probably get more answers.

Soon enough, he’s stepping into the end of a battle where Phantom is getting Skulker into a thermos, and demands answers, and if not answers help.

They brawl, and Tim’s training as Red Robin gets him farther than a lot of ghosts. And then, when he knows he’s beat and he’s about to share thermos space with the robot jackass (who he can interrogate and then build his own robot) Tim realizes something.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you? You’re Danny, black hair and blue eyes.” Tim says and suddenly Phantom is as still as the dead despite the accusation.

“How the fuck- dude. Okay, you know what? Fine. Lets go talk, you’re clearly not giving up and I need you to never say that shit out loud ever again.”

Because blackmail works in life for Tim, blackmail also apparently works in death.

He’s given all of the info they have on the GIW, he’s introduced to ghost technology and how it works with ectoplasm. He’s told about the portal (although they refuse to sneak him into the house to see it- he can handle a few lasers, ugh) and he’s told about the general sequence of events in Danny’s life/death.

And then Tim is suddenly back in his body in Gotham.

The family found a way to bring him back and he’s 100% alive, no longer ghostly, but he retained all his memories.

“We have a war against the government to start” are not the first words his family expected to hear from Tim post death.

[roboticchibitan]

I remember when same sex marriage was legized in my state (3 years before obergefel vs Hodges which legalized it nationwide). It won by a very narrow margin.

People who had taken care of me when I was young, people who were like second parents to me, (along with half the other people I knew) were saying it was the end times because I could now get married. And I couldn't help but wonder... would those people have protected me, cared for me, let me play with their children, if they had known I would grow up to be queer?

I came out in 2011. I was lucky. My parents were accepting. My mom was clearly uncomfortable at first but she made it clear she loved me no matter what.

Except.

My dad didn't care if I was queer and assured me that didn't mean there was anything wrong with me (in a speech I didn't need to hear but I think he needed to say). But he still said "that's gay" and "that's faggy" anytime my little brother showed vulnerability.

And I was a lucky one. My father used homophobic slurs around me regularly. He turned the word gay into a slur with his homophobic mouth. And I was a lucky one.

When I came out publicly, my grandmother stopped speaking to me for a while. I'm lucky that she changed her mind. I'm lucky that my grandparents let me bring my girlfriend with me when I went to visit them in October. October of 2022 and I still consider myself lucky that my grandparents let my queer partner into their house. My other grandma likewise visited with us, and was polite and friendly, but she still refused to call my gf anything other than "your friend." Still lucky. Incredibly lucky.

People don't understand just how bad things were as much as ten years ago. When I came out at school, I was lucky. No one bullied me. No one shoved me into lockers or called me slurs. They all just stopped talking to me. I became invisible. I went to a small school. I was the only person who was out. Exactly one person talked to me the rest of the year. And I was a lucky one.

When I was in middle and highschool, the go to insult was "that's gay." I heard it constantly. Every day. Sometimes people said it to me to insult me, long before I even knew I was queer.

I was lucky because the worst that happened to me was social isolation and people using slurs around me or turning my identity into a slur. No one called ME faggy. No one beat me up behind the school bleachers. I was incredibly lucky.

I have experienced the word "gay" used as a slur far more than I ever heard the word "queer" used as a slur. Young "queer is a slur and only a slur" people need to know the world you live in is not the world the rest of us live in. Why is "queer" a slur but "gay" isn't? My homophobic father thought the word "gay" conveyed just as much offense and disgust as the word "faggot." So why is queer the horrible word that can never be reclaimed but people say "that's gay" as a compliment now? The loneliest I have ever felt was in a room full of teenagers who thought my identity was the height of insults. So why is gay fine but queer isn't?

I am a fat butch queer and I do not hide that. My shoes have a pride flag on them. I have a masculine haircut and wear men's clothes. I look queer.

And I am afraid. I dress like this anyway, because I want other queer folks to know I am a safe person. I dress how I do partially because I like it but also partially so any queer person in the room, no matter now closeted, can see me and feel a little bit safer. Because I will protect other queer people with my life if need be.

Because I am openly and visibly queer and live in a world where being queer can get you killed. Because it can. Gay bashings still happen. The alt right are getting bolder in their violence, and that includes homophobic/transphobic violence. There are organizations in the US that are actively pushing to make homosexuality punishable by death in Africa. They know they could never accomplish that here. But they would if they could. People want us dead.

Young people need to understand that. And they need to understand that the people who did the most work to free us from criminalization were queer. They identified as queer. And they weren't the perfect law abiding queers toeing the line of what's acceptible. Because being queer itself was illegal. You could end up on the sex offender registry for being gay. In fact, there are queer people who are STILL registered as sex offenders just because they were queer in 2001. Pride wasn't a permitted parade with wells Fargo floats. It was angry queers illegally marching down the streets, screaming "We're here. We're queer. Get used to it."

Being openly queer is a radical act. It is still a radical act.

I did not live through Windsor vs the united states, the referendum 74 debate, my father punishing my brother for being human with homophobic slurs, and the pearl clutching fearmongering about "the gay agenda" (that was a go to phrase for 2012 homophobes) for some LGBT kid to come at me with TERF bullshit they got off tiktok about how my identity is a slur and I'm a horrible person for using it.

I was a lucky one and I'm still saying "no, absolutely not" to this bullshit.

Queer is more inclusive. Queer accounts for any possible fluidity because people change. Identities change. Queer is there for people who know they're Something Different but are not sure of the details yet. Queer is intentionally vague. When you're young you want everyone to know exactly who you are but as you get older you realize actually my identity is none of your business. In fact, sometimes when you tell someone your identity, you're handing them a bludgeon for them to hurt you with.

If you have trans classmates, you do not understand the world the rest of us grew up in. Trans people were not a public topic. They were not even acknowledged as existing by most people. I didn't know what being trans was until I was like 17. I'm nonbinary now and consider myself trans 10 years later.

And I didn't even have it that bad. But you know what? It still sucked and it was still hard and I can't imagine what it was like to grow up a decade before I did. I had it easy compared to most people.

If you can jokingly say "that's gay" when someone expresses queer love, then you can fucking handle people using the word queer as their identity.

The infighting and policing each other has to stop. You're oppressing queer people with this bullshit. It does not matter what words queer people use to describe themselves when there are people actively killing us. What are you doing? For fucks sake look at the bigger picture. Direct all that rage at our oppressors and the people who mean us harm. Queer people and he/him lesbians and bi lesbians and people who use neo pronouns and whoever else is the discourse of the day do not deserve this kind of treatment. Punch a homophobe and maybe you'll feel better.

[iaure]

𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰, 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭

𝖞𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖊𝖑 𝖔❜𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖝 𝖋𝖊𝖒!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1: 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶; 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3: 𝔦 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4: 𝔰𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴

CW: description of family death, ptsd, stalking, harassment, obsession. Written in the third person. Use of Y/N. Y/N acts as a mom/sister to the four teens. This mostly establishes her relationship with other characters.

Spoilers for Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ not quite sure how i feel about this one Ꮚ≡д≡Ꮚ it's very filler-y and explaining some of the mental process Y/N went through, but it's okay! it's a stepping stone to miguel confessing! we'll get there! ✩ᏊꈍꈊꈍᏊ the new updates tag is also #୨♡୧ gothic updates because of the font i'm using for the titles!

wc: 1.9k

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗻❜𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.

Y/N wondered what it was like. When her brother leapt to save the child from a falling building, he refused to look at her. They hadn't spoken in years, estranged because they lost sight of when they were kids. Separated by family politics. They hadn't spoken in years. And he knew Y/N was Spider-Woman. He knew, and when she tried to stop him, he just...tore away. Said he wasn't a child, said that he didn't need her help.

He, very evidently, did.

Y/N didn't get the chance to see his body. He was carted away too soon, and the child was rushed into her arms, a little thing sobbing.

That day, Y/N found out she had a soft spot for kids.

Y/N previously had lived her life as normally as possible. She worked as a manager for some joint she never really cared for and did her job as Spider-Woman as quickly as possible. It became a running joke that she never really 'cared'. Well, duh, she cared, or else she wouldn't do it, but she was quite...lackadaisical. Nothing so jarring human death had occurred to her aside from her uncle's death, but it was far easier to get over him. She found out six hours later that this was something called a 'canon event'; things that are impossible to stop, like earth-shattering trains. All you could do was lay on the tracks as comfortable as possible. The woman that told her was good. Beautiful. Heavily pregnant. Surprisingly quick on her feet for being (aforementionedly) pregnant. And she said she was Spider-Woman, too. It took a second for Y/N to process it. But the woman, Jess, was cool, and to be frank, Y/N wasn't too worried. And Jess talked to her about what was effectively an army of Spider-Men, trying to stop anomalies. She asked if Y/N was interested.

It's not like Spider-Woman 7290 had anything better to do, anyway.

The watches were weird, Y/N would admit that. And the tower was like a temptation stairway, to just get lost in and never be found again. The other spiders were kind, waving hello and offering sympathies for her brother. One, a Spider-Moth, kept on bumping into her. It was...funny, to say the least. All had, to some degree, accepted their fates as Spider-Men and Women and Things and Animals and Beasts and everything she could possibly imagine. There was a car, of all things. It was...delightfully absurd, after observing such a hellscape as her brother's death. She was still in her torn Spider-Suit, still bruised with the dirt-marked tear stains down her face. She tried rubbing away what she could, but when Jess shot her a look of concern, she stopped. She didn't need pity. She didn't need worry. She was Spider-Woman. She could do it on her own.

She, very evidently, could not.

Y/N realised that when she saw Miguel. He was massive, built like a brick wall and an upside down triangle with a stare that felt like he was prying her apart at the seams. She tried to match it, but nothing quite felt as harsh as his stare. He seemed downright villainous. If that thing was chasing her, she would've screamed. Y/N was glad he was on the good guy's side. Jess introduced her, and Y/N felt lucky that she was so confident. Spider-Woman 7290 felt like she was shrinking under Spider-Man 2099's gaze. She wanted to run, as stupid as it sounded. Every sense except her spidersense was lighting up, telling her to bolt. The introduction felt like it lasted forever, with how Miguel didn't say a word. And to be frank...it kind of pissed her off. She'd already been through so much that same day. Why did she have to deal with this guy?

"Spider-Woman, from Earth 7290. Also known as Y/N."

Jess said it so matter-of-factly, and Y/N made it a point to look Miguel in the eye. Despite the cold terror that gripped her, she was not going to back down. Who was this guy, even? He reminded her of how her brother was over-confident. Maybe this guy had the past to back it up, but Y/N didn't know that.

And he just stared.

Y/N and Jess shared a look, and Jess put a hand to her shoulder. There was another beat of silence, before Jess cleared her throat. "Miguel? Are you listening?" Miguel seemed to jump, not physically, but mentally, snapping out of whatever haze he was in. He waved a hand, looking away. "Yeah. Sure. Ger her a watch." That wasn't even what Jess had been talking about, and the two women shared a glanced before Y/N looked to Miguel one last time. And he stared at her, as though she were a ghost.

Whatever. Guy was weird. Leave it to a superhero to be weird. He had enough on his plate to let him be a little weird.

Y/N got comfortable in the Spider-Society. She thought it was a stupid name, and she came off a little meaner than most of the other Spiders, but everyone had such similar experiences that it was easy to talk. Pav and Hobie became fast favourites-kids who got dropped in too fast, too soon, and could use some help from someone who gave a damn. Pav didn't seem to quite get it yet, but Hobie did, and Y/N found it easier to try and talk to the two of them than anyone else. Soft spot for kids. More like a soft black hole where if it wasn't those two, she didn't care. Then Gwen showed up, and poor girl needed someone to look after her. Jess cared, clearly, but Gwen needed someone who wasn't so preoccupied with saving the multiverse. Whenever she caught Gwen crying over her father, there was a little bit of rage that built up, because who treats their child like that? What kind of nightmare did Gwen have to go through?

The three started tailing her, following her around. And against all reason...she liked it.

She began prioritising helping them. Jess told her multiple times that they needed to do their own thing, but they were kids. She was about to have a kid! Y/N didn't understand Jess's reasoning all too well, but she wasn't upset, either. Everyone did their own thing. In this case, her thing was taking care of the kids that needed adult supervision. This also meant she had three extra pairs of eyes looking out for her.

Hobie was the first one to notice Miguel. The two of you were out, handing an anomaly (a rogue Doc Ock), when the teen shot you a look. "On your six," He shrugged. "Guess he wanted to watch." Y/N never spun around so fast in her life. She got the barest glance of his neon webs, but nothing more. And the discomfort in her gut began to grow. Pav was next, far less casual about it and positively gushing about it. He thought it was cute, how Miguel 'watched over you'. Something, something, romantic tension. But he went quiet after Y/N said she'd only spoken to Miguel a handful of times. That day, the discomfort was shared.

Little things began to shift around her apartment. Groceries replenished themselves. A Vulture was found beaten so bloody that he turned himself into the hospital, speaking about a Spider that very much wasn't Y/N. Once, her clothes had been washed, folded, and placed on her bed. And Y/N could put up with all of it, if it was just her. But Gwen would stay with her, usually, if she wasn't visiting Hobie or Jess. The apartment was small, but when Gwen walked into the guest bedroom and saw it was tidied up while the two were out, Y/N knew it was an issue. Why Miguel would do something like this was beyond her. He had so much more to take care of than to harass some Spider that he'd only spoken to...what? Four? Five times? Y/N was angry. Couldn't she just live her life? She just wanted to help the kids, beat the bad guys, and go home to relax. Was that a crime? She'd barely looked at him, even. Granted, it was partially because he was still scary as hell. Was he handsome? Sure. But he was so serious all the damn time, and there was the rumour about his dead wife, so Y/N was just pissed.

But whatever. She could put up with it for a while. Just until the next anomaly was figured out: some guy named the Spot.

She'd talked to Jess about putting Gwen on the job. Begged, even. Gwen needed a big break, something for her ego, and Y/N figured some villain of the week ought to do it.

That, evidently, didn't do it.

The situation spun out of hand. Y/N blamed herself, begged Jess to give Gwen some leniency. And thank god, Jess listened. The idea of Gwen suffering because Y/N pushed her in too far, too fast, would eat her alive. But if there was one thing Y/N was curious for, it was meeting Miles Morales. Gwen never stopped talking about him. Was excited as all get out any time he was mentioned. So seeing the young man in the Spider-Society was a treat. He was nice, and it was clear to her that Gwen and Miles cared for one another. How wasn't any of her business, just that they did, and now Miles was encompassed into the small army of children Y/N had amassed.

Which...brought her to this point.

An army of Spiders to her right. An army of Spiders to her left. And the one man army himself to her very front. Y/N was pissed Miguel treated Miles like that. Miles was a child who, god forbid, wanted to save his father. And besides. Miguel had already built up enough bad blood between Y/N and himself, with his little antics. She didn't find it hard to pick sides. Which led her to trying to block off the window Miles leapt out of. Her webs weren't the strongest, but considering it was an active act of treason, she knew she had to act fast. A Spider pinned to the wall there. A Spider dangled from the ceiling there. Buying Miles as much time as possible. The look on his face as he fell...the confusion. The gratitude. Miles had become one of her own, and she was not going to forsake him. But no one can stop Miguel.

He rammed into her, knocking the breath out of her like a bullet the size of Peter Parkedcar. There was a brief moment where Y/N were only spinning, Miguel's arms wrapped around her as she was used as a battering ram against her own webs, flung out the window. Miguel spun back, inexplicably, to place her back in the tower, muttering under his breath in Spanish before he launched himself back out the window.

"¿Por qué me hiciste esto, mi amor?" He had whispered. But she was too far gone. The world was getting hazy, and Y/N had one last thought.

That bought Miles another thirty seconds.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

𓂋

ʚ♡ɞ taglist @neteyamsbulletwound

[valliesworld]

You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she’d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

[loriache]

do you ever think about how delgal never blamed the winged lion for what happened to thistle?

I'll preface this by saying that he certainly COULD have done. most of the arguments that delgal had with thistle about returning the golden kingdom are off-page, and he doesn't seem to have relayed a lot of detail to yaad about how he understood thistle's behaviour.

however.

what we can infer, i think, is that if delgal blamed anything for thistle's increasingly erratic behaviour, it was the influence of "black magic" and power.

the winged lion is the golden kingdom's guardian deity, and that is how they understand it up to the present - including yaad. the prophecy that convinced delgal to leave the dungeon (which i assume the winged lion intended to use to attract another, more easily controllable, dungeon lord) is likely to be part of a long campaign the lion made of deliberately isolating thistle from the people of the golden kingdon and presenting itself as the victim.

we see that the lion is convincing, and keeps a facade of concern for thistle long past the point that it has any chance of winning him over - i don't have any doubt it was easy to present this narrative to the kingdom's people, including delgal.

but isn't it incredibly sad to think that the person who thistle trusted most in the world and did all of this for was unable to see the true victim, between him and the winged lion?

we see that very shortly upon becoming the dungeon lord, both marcille and laios become lost in their desires. this is standard.

Laios is only able to get through to marcille because he sees the root of her pain, and understands that ...

...the dungeon's power is evil.

thistle isn't acting rationally from the very beginning, but it is possible to reach him - if delgal could understand where his desire and his fear stemmed from, and that the winged lion is evil.

Thistle at least seems to know that the winged lion isn't to be trusted. Thus why he sealed it in the book. perhaps he picked up on what it was doing, manipulating the kingdom's people and him both.

But if he ever said that the winged lion was dangerous, not to be trusted, to delgal, he wasn't believed. to delgal, thistle sealed and misused the power of the golden kingdom's guardian deity. As a student of ancient magic, I believe thistle understands that isn't what the demon is - or at least not all of what it is - even if he doesn't know the details of why it's so dangerous, or that it can devour his desires. But as an 'outsider' to the golden kingdom, despite his (unofficial, i'm sure) adoption, and the fact he's been there most of his life, I doubt his saying so would be received well by the kingdom's people.

As far as we know delgal also doesn't understand the fear that is driving thistle's refusal to let the dungeon go -- the need to be useful that he instilled.

Even if he doesn't really realise, he is talking to a, at most, 15-16 year old in relative human years, and putting the responsibility for the kingdom on him - it's no wonder this is a weight that Thistle isn't able to let go of. Especially if this is how he attempts to persuade him:

It doesn't get to the root of why he asked thistle to do this to begin with - the fear of death. It's just "hasn't it been long enough, people want to leave." Well, if they leave, they will die - thistle's right about that! The only way to get him to accept that is what Yaad eventually does on his behalf at the end of the manga.

To admit that he was wrong to ask to begin with. To ask Thistle to accept loss and death. To accept it himself, truly.

Without doing that, there's no way he'd ever get through to him. So the route he takes - running away from thistle, begging that someone kill the "lunatic magician" - might be the last resort of a desperate man who blamed himself for what happened to his brother. But it's also something he does because he can't understand Thistle, and can't see his pain for what it is or his relationship with the Winged Lion for what it is.

The way that the lion manipulates others' perception to make him the victim and thistle the - well, the 'lunatic', the unstable villain and captor - really evokes DARVO to me. the demon as a metaphor for an abusive relationship. like.... look at this extra:

and it makes me sad that no-one realised what was going on until it was too late for thistle.

[myladysapphire]

The spoils of war

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

word count: 2,665

CW: MDI 18+, angst, smut, forced marriage, unrequited love, jelousy. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), no happy ending

Fem!reader x Aegon ii Targeryen and past fem!reader x Aemond Targereyn

a/n Aegon isn't a r*pist in this fic

Masterlist

Being a woman on the losing side of a war was never a good thing. Death always followed war, but so did marriage. and Marriage was what you now found yourself facing. Though you had begged for death, the greens deemed it fit for Rhaneyras only daughter to marry Aego.

as a means to oppress the remaining black loyalists.

With Heleana having taken her own life after the detah of both her sons, Jaeherys and Maelor. Aegon found himself without a wife. 

And with only a daughter to succeed him, the small council feared another dance should Jaeheara be heir, so they agreed a marriage between you and Aegon would suit the realm.

Though you disagreed, you had been a prisoner in the red keep for longer than you can remember. Having been dragged to the keep by Aemond after Luke's death. Aemond would visit often. You wewre forced to listen and watch as Aegon ruled, as they ridiculed your mothers everymove. You would hear about the death of each of your family through gaurds taunts.

You had seen freedom for half a year when your mother finally achieved her birthright. Had met Cregan, the man who you was supposed to marry. 

And then you heard of Aemonds death. Daemon had killed him and died himself. You and he had once considered yourself inlove. Even planned to run away and marry. But after what he did to Luke, those feelings changed and the love and longing turned to hate and anger. And with his detah came relief. She felt one step closer to her mother being safe on the throne. 

And then Aegon returned and killed your mother. Burned her alive.

You had witnessed it all, as guards held you back.

Then two weeks later your own grandsire, Coryls Veleryon, came and told you of the plans, the plans he agreed with and even proposed. 

He was the only visitor she had had. She had no Aemond to visit her, to eat with ehr even if all she did was spit angry words in his direction.

Then today, after over a moon, you were dragged from your bed and forced before Aegon in the throne room.Your mothers burnt body laid in front of you, wrapped in sheets as if to hide what Aegon had done to her. and your youngest brother, Aegon the younger, in chains.

The green council tood and told you what they demanded, Crolys the main voice among them. It was clear you had no choice but to accept their demands. marry Aegon and become queen, her brother's life will be spared and warded in Oldtown until he was four and ten. If she refused, he would become just like thre dead mother. A burnt body. And she would be dragged down the aisle anyway.

she needed her brother Aegon, he was the only family she had left and it killed her that he would grow up in the hands of the greens, but then again so would her children. The heirs the small council had demanded they have, if not Aegons life would be forfeit. 

The small council had left, leaving her and Aegon alone, bar the few guards that remained. 

Aegon called your name, he seemed nervous, tired even.

He wore the conqueror's crown, it suited him, though it was not his. But it was clear that the weight of it was more than the weight of the rubys. A weight Aegon ahd once told her he feared. 

He coughed, bringing you back from your thoughts. “Your grandsire informed me that he told you of our plans over a moon ago”

You nodded.

“I know this is not what you wanted… that i am not who you wanted, or even - or even the brother you wanted-” he stood up and made his way towards her “but this is for the good of the realm”

You scoffed “of course it is Aegon, no one wants another war.”  Everyone knew why you were marrying, it was to be a front of the greens and blacks uniting, of her bending the knee. “I am the spoils of war, Aegon. And when it comes to victory the victor always keeps his prize. And I am your prize Aegon. Not that i had a choice” you tunrened to leave, done with this, you had time. Time to get a letter to Cregan. Some servants were still loyal, surely?

Aegon once again called your name “we wed on the morrow”

Then again, the greens were smart enough to win a war, of course they were smart enogh to marry her fast. 

Aegon had alwasy hoped to wed her. And he had hope for this marriage, but not hope for a happy marriage. though he had once hoped to wed her instead of Helaena, and now he was forcing her to marry him. But he did hope it’ll end the war. Hoped that Cregan Stark would stop his attacks and surrender, submit to him and not launch the realm into another war.  they had lost too much as it was.

Aegon felt sorry for her. He felt alone but she truley was. Her only family would soon be torn from her and she would be stuck with them, and married to him. 

It had never been him for her, though it had always been her for him. from doing everything to gain her attention, bullying Aemond so she would see him as the better brother, from begging his mother and even his father to marry her and not Helaena. From bedding whores who were her doubles. 

But for you it has always been Aemond, always been him even when he killed your brother, Aemond still spoke as if you two were soon to wed and that you and him were utterly in love. He  had never got your attention, not the way Aemond had.

He called your name again, you were numb, eyes and face void of any emotion. “did you hear me?!” he asked more sternly.

you nodded your head, looking down. “ I understand Aegon.” you said his name so sweetly and yet it was filled with such hate. you had yet to call him King, had yet to fully bend the knee to him.

he sighed “you will have to bend the knee to me before and the lords of the realm… they have all been summoned for the wedding. where we shall pledge our souls together and you shall pledge your allegiance.”

you gritted your teeth, you had never been stubborn, always a people pleaser, but when it came to this you were being… difficult.

he sighed, going to speak again before you snapped your head up. He was close, close enough to reach out and take her hands in his. To hold her close. To-

“Fine! But you must swear to me Aegon.. That my brother will be safe. I - i do not want him in oldtown, send him somewhere anywhere but there. I will only bend the knee if he is safe, and i will make sure he does aswell, and that he sticks to it, if you swear he will not be killed!”

“Of course, i- he is my nephew, and as it stands my heir- it is in the crowns best interest to protect him. Doing otherwise would-”

“Risk war” she finished for him. “I make no rpomises for the marriage, but is shall do my duty.”

It hurts, duty. Their marriage, the marriage he had hjoped for being just a duty. Being a consolation prize for winning a war his mother and grandsire planned and plotted his whole life. And her turning around and storming through the door straight away hurt even more.

She had been given a dress. It was ivory and It was…beautiful. 

She had expected green. Something obvious. To get the greens point across. But she supposed the wedding got it across enough.

The wedding was packed, lords and ladies from all over westros, lords and ladies from both the blacks and the greens.

Her grandsire walked her down the Asile. 

Aegon stood up there, in ivory, with matching patterns to her gown. He smiled at her. He looked happy as if he had waited for this day. As if she and him were lovers finally getting there wedding day.

The ceremony was fast, a copy and paste of the dozens of weddings she had attend

They had stood before each other, in the eys of the realm and the gods. There hands joined togther, eyes locked. It was intense and fast. Then she was maade to kneel before him, and as she knelt he placed a crown on her hesd, naming her his queen consort.

There was relief throughout the kingdom the night. There wedding celebration turning into toasts and dances of peace. 

And before she knew it, it was time for the bedding ceremony.

She was nervous. She knew it would hurt somewhat. Her mother had always had told her. And told her all she would need to know. Ahd reassured her that on her wedding day she would be there, smiling and dancing as she married her love. And yet her mother was dead. Her brothers dead. Rhanea and Beala were at driftamark, univinted as if them coming would prevent the wedding from happnning. And she was not marrying her love, she was marrying her duty. Marrying for peace. And yet when Aegon looked into her eyes as they stood for the bedding ceremony she flet at peace, calm, as if eveything was snapping into place.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, before moving to step down and leave.

Aegon had ordered for no escorts top there chambers, no servants or maids. It was just them. 

And for the first time in who knows how long she felt like she could breath. 

Aegon looked towards you, cupping your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks. he was nervou, his eyes gave that away. “i’m sorry if this is not the wedding you wanted, or the husband, but i want you to know that you are the wife i have always wanted. i understand why you could never love me back. i have done terrible things to your family and i-“

“not tonight Aegon” you begged, “for tonight let us be husband and wife, tommorow you can be King Aegon, the Aegon who did all of those things, but tonight we forget. you will make me forget” you begged.

Aegon responsed ,not with words but by surging forward with a kiss. Unlike the one in the sept, were it was quick chaste. this was filled with passion, filled with Aegons love for you. There  mouths moulded together, his tounge teasing your  lip until you finally got the hint and opens for him. she was inexperienced, it was obvious, but you caught on quick. even quicker when his kisses started trailing from your mouth, to your  jaw and then to your  neck, moving further down until they reached your shoulders. he looked up then, his hand moving to the back of your dress, reaching for the corset. reaching for his laces he gave a soft kiss to your  shoulder, before removing the laces to her gown., your dress slowly dropped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. leaving your in your shear underclothes.

“gods”Aegon moaned, before diving back down to kiss your neck and working his way back up to your mouth. you moved your ah do to his shoulders, relaxing more into the kisses, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Aegon moved down one more, this time he didn’t stop at your shoulder, but moved down your your breast. taking your nipple into his mouth, and moaning at the taste. you yourself moaned in pleasure, you had done some stuff with Aemond, mainly kissing, some touching, even had his head between your thighs. but tonight felt differ t, it was not a differ t lind of pleasure, but a feeling. with Ameond it was forbidden, but with Aegon, he was your husband and deep down it felt right.

moving away from your breasts aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, before taking a step back. you watched as he did, removing his jacket and then his tunic, leaving him topless before you. he was not toned or leaned as Aemond was, but a bit chubby. And yet she found even hotter than the toned body you  had once knew so well.

Aegon continued stepping back, but not before taking your hand in his and pulling you with him, towards the bed.

He turned you around, allowing your back of your beds to hit the bed. sitting in the bed Aegon thought you a vision, even more so whn you shyly reached  for your small clothes and pulled them off over your head. you were perfect.

he moaned at the sight, before reaching down and pressing his mouth to yours, his hands reaching down to caress your body, the feeling filled with care.

“Aegon?” you spoke up, causing Aegon to lean back and stop.

“what? are you ok?” he asked

you nodded, reaching forward to his breeches, searching for the laces. Aegon let out a laugh, before moving back to take them off. “better?” he asked. you nodded.

he leant down and gave you a kiss before getting in his knees and spreading your legs. he looked up at you a gleam o his eyes, before moving forward, and devouring you. his tounge circling your clit. his hands moved up your legs, leaving goosebumps in there wake. his fingers moved up towards your heat, his fingers teasing your opening. slowly he entered his finger, gods you were right, unexplored. 

pumping in and out of you, you let out moans of pleasure, your peak etching closer and closer, before taking you over whole.

Aegon moved back, wiping his face in the bed sheets, before standing up. 

you looked at him, dazed.

“we don’t have to go any further-“ you interrupted him.

“i want too” you spoke, almost begging.

he nodded, moving you back, further into the bed. 

Moving between your thighs, he pushed in slowly and carefully. 

you felt so full, uncomfortable, before it turned quickly into pleasure. Aegon moved slowly, pumping you full, his body pressed against yours, kissing you deeply. before moving faster, harder. moans filled the room, the pleasure over taking them you both as you once again reached your peak, and Aegon let go, filling you with his seed.

Aegon collapsed further into you, both your breath heavy.

“gods” you sighed. and Aegon nodded in agreement.

As the years passed since your wedding to Aegon. 

you knew you would never forgive him for what he had down, never love him, not like he loved you. 

but you were civil, appeasing. paining the picture of the perfect wife. And Wegon grew more in love.

but deep down you knew that you would never love him, or forgive him, and some part of you would always long for Cregan or mother black loyalist to rise up and name your brother king.

But as you grew older, and had five children, all the image of Aegon, that that day would never come. not as your children grew older. As Jaheara and Aegon wed, and had children of there own. 

And when aegon died at the age of 56, from a summer fever, believing you had forgiven him and loved him, you realised that the greens had won. Even as you watched your son be crowned king, and his son after him.

You never got your happy ending, but the history books would right that you did. That all along you were a green. Switching form one brother to the other.

when in reality you still felt alone, and though you died surrounded by your grandchildren and great grandchildren, you died feeling alone, still feeling like the spoils of war.

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

HOTD: @taragryenmoony

General: @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Always

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You die, and Sam and Dean will do anything to bring you back.

“No no no no,” Dean breathed as he knelt next to you, placing his hand on the wound at your stomach and pressing down to stop the bleeding. When you whimpered, Dean cringed. “I know, I know it hurts baby. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry…”

“I’m here, I’ve got it,” Sam called out as he ran to his siblings, the first aid kit in hand. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart,” he promised as he knelt next to you and Dean. He moved Dean’s hand and lifted up your shirt for better access to the wound, but then he froze.

Sam realized it before Dean did. Or maybe Dean knew, but refused to accept it.

“Sam, c’mon, you’ve gotta…” Dean’s voice caught in his throat when he saw your wound.

“De?” You croaked, and he turned his head to smile at you.

“It-it’s ok, baby. It’s not that bad, N/N. It-it’s not even that bad, ok? Sammy’s gonna fix you up, you’re gonna be fine.”

You didn’t say anything, but you tried valiantly to smile, assured by Dean’s lie.

“Yeah, hey,” Dean breathed, almost smiling back at you. “I’ve got you baby, I got you.” Dean lifted your head into his lap, gripping your hand when you held it out to him. “I’m right here, you’re ok.” Dean turned his gaze to Sam. “Can…u can…c’mon, we gotta try.”

“I…” Sam didn’t even know where to start. You’d lost too much blood, the hospital was too far away, he didn’t want to move you…

“Sammy?”

Sam met his big brother’s gaze, and they shared a moment of intense terror and realization. There was nothing they could do.

“Sa…de…” your breathing had both shallowed and quickened, and you couldn’t even get out your brother’s names.

“Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok just breathe,” Sam instructed. “Just breathe.”

“We’re right here baby,” Dean said, squeezing your hand. “We’re right here.”

You gave your big brothers one last smile as your eyes slowly blinked closed, and the rise and fall of your chest eventually stopped.

“No no no no no,” Dean cried. “No, baby c’mon. C’mon, open your eyes, I…”

“De…” Sam choked. “She…”

“No.”

…

“Anything?”

“If I had anything, you think I’d still be looking?” Dean yelled as he slammed his book shut. There was a beat of silence before— “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe we can’t find anything because there’s nothing to find.”

“Don’t even say that,” Dean growled. “We’re gonna find something. We’re gonna bring her back.”

“I just don’t know if—“

A frantic knocking at the door startled both boys. They certainly weren’t expecting anyone.

Dean pulled his gun out of his waistband as he stood from his chair, making his way carefully towards the door. Once he’d looked in the peephole, he gave Sam a significant look before swinging the door open.

“Dean.” Your face broke out into a relieved smile.

“Stay back.” Dean pointed his gun at you and took a step back when you tried to step into the motel room.

“Y/N?” Sam breathed as he slowly got to his feet.

“Sammy no! We don’t know that that’s her.” Dean didn’t take his eyes off you as he spoke.

“Dean, please,” you whimpered, and Dean saw the way you were trembling, like your legs could barely support you. “I-I don’t know what’s going on. I need-I need help.”

“Dean,” Sam pleaded.

“We don’t know it’s her,” Dean argued.

“Test me,” you insisted. “Do whatever you have to do.”

Dean let you in—never taking his eye or gun off you for a second—and you sat down on his bed while Sam grabbed the holy water and a silver knife. You didn’t move as Sam splashed holy water on your hands, but when he lifted the knife you flinched, the scene of your death still fresh in your mind.

Dean misinterpreted your fear, reaching out and gripping your wrist to hold you still.

Sam glanced at Dean before looking back at you, putting the knife to your palm and cutting a small stripe that instantly sprung beads of dark red. You winced, but the cut didn’t burn.

“I’m me,” you said.

Sam needed no further prompting. He dropped the knife and pulled you into his arms, his chin coming to rest on top of your head.

Dean however, seemed unable to move.

“How are you here?” He asked. “What did you do?”

Sam pulled away, but you clung to his arms as you answered Dean.

“I don’t know. I-I thought it was you guys.”

Sam and Dean shared a look. They had barely been apart since you’d died; there was no way one of them had made a deal.

“We didn’t do this,” Sam said.

“Then who did?” You whimpered. “W-what do we do about it?”

Dean suddenly moved forwards, brushing Sam out of the way as he pulled you into his arms.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t care who did it, you’re back. That’s what matters.” Dean cradled your head in his hand, holding you tightly when you began to cry. “It’s ok baby, it’s ok. You’re back now, we’re gonna keep you safe.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” Dean grimaced. “I know you are baby. We’re gonna keep you safe now. Always.”

[sepublic]

I wonder if part of the reason for Flapjack’s death was to contrast how Hunter handled his own grief over a lost loved one, vs Philip’s response?

There’s the immediate reactions of pushing people away; Philip refuses the kindness of the locals in his search for Caleb and especially afterwards, tries to kill Evelyn, and rebukes his own brother in favor of holding onto bitterness.

Hunter becomes snappy, aggressive, and closed off after losing Flapjack; Like Philip, he devotes himself to a mission of finding a fellow Wittebane, and gets frustrated over any perceived frivolities and distractions.

But eventually, Hunter recognizes that while his trauma is valid, he’s also been pushing Willow away and placing a lot of burden on her as well. It’s okay that he was triggered by the Emerald Entrails photo instead of reassured, but part of Hunter and Willow’s resolution is the former clarifying that yes, her efforts to reach out do mean a lot to him. And Willow means a lot to Hunter too, that’s why he wants to reciprocate and accept, instead of causing her to feel just as ineffectual by refusing help; Willow deserves help too!

Not only that, but Philip and Hunter both created living beings as a coping mechanism, only for one to be unhealthy, while the other actually recovered. Philip is obsessed with creating perfect replicas of Caleb, casting out Grimwalkers for being too different from the mold, not good enough, and keeping them all to himself; The Grimwalkers aren’t allowed their own lives nor any other relationships.

Hunter makes palismen for others, he’s giving people the companionship he himself lost, and he isn’t designing anything after Flapjack, not necessarily; Just whatever a witch needs. Even his personal palisman, Waffles, is visually different while still hearkening to Flapjack, because Hunter is a Clawthorne after all; He can move on and be himself while also honoring his connections with others, and not become unhealthily dependent or averse to them.

Hunter made Waffles and thus must’ve chosen these differences, or carved an egg like Luz did, so his palisman could choose a form. I find that wonderfully ironic, for while Hunter has more control over how his creations turn out, he doesn’t abuse this to create a replica of Flapjack; He enables and encourages variation instead, while Philip gambles to make each Grimwalker closer to the original, eliminating any deviations as if that will alter the odds.

One uses control to give to others, the other has no control and desperately wants it over others. Philip grows and Hunter whittles away, but it’s Hunter who proves more nurturing and free. Both used palistrom wood, but Hunter’s coping mechanism encourages its growth, while Philip hoards and even devours it.

Hunter surpasses his uncle by suffering in similar ways, only to show that you can still recover without hurting others; Philip really does have no excuse, for Hunter is an example of the person he easily could and should’ve been in response to loss. Philip tried to spread his pain by repeating it in others, he killed Flapjack (and projected onto Luz, as if to absolve himself by claiming she should do the same, since anyone else would’ve); But Hunter looked his uncle in the eye and said No, I will not be a vector for your bitterness.

[superbat-lmao]

Damian Wayne stuck in a time loop.

It resets when someone dies, and since Damian is the youngest, it doesn’t matter how rocky his relationship is with the bat-siblings, each and everyone one of them sacrifices themselves for him.

And Damian is pissed off because he doesn’t understand why.

Grayson is obvious, he has made it clear that he feels affection for Damian and has made the most effort into integrating him into the family. Of course he would die for his little brother. And at first, Damian believes he finds this outcome to be the least acceptable.

There is also his Father, again, a logical expression of love. Damian can understand why his Father would die for him, even if he doesn’t want him to. Even if, in the first few loops, he wishes that anyone else would die instead. At least it’s a type of parental relationship he can understand in the abstract, even if it surprises him to see its true about himself. That even though he has several older brothers and is unsure of his place by his Father’s side, the man would do anything to protect him. It reminds him of his Mother, even though he’s sure if she were here she’d find a way for the both of them to live.

Brown is the first one to surprise him. They had worked together when Grayson was Batman and he recognized her competence, but he thought that’s all it was. A working relationship between professionals. A mutal, if grudging respect. He is shocked when she dies, how he had no clue she would go that far for him. How he refuses to let it happen again.

If Brown was a surprise, Cain was a shock. Damian thought of her as nigh invincible, unable to be touched. It was clear she was the best of all of them, that she had seen the hit miles ahead of him, had maybe even seen him brace for it. But she had chosen to let herself go down. He feels every bit his age as he begins to wonder if he’s even more powerless to stop this than he thought if his most competent sister chose to let herself fall.

Thomas was confusing. He was new, newer than Damian and not quite sure of himself. They rarely saw each other aside from school due to the mismatch in schedules. Thomas gave him a wide berth, respecting Damian’s space in a way his other siblings failed to do or intentionally disregarded. Damian didn’t think much of him. Couldn’t understand how Thomas hadn’t even paused, had taken the hit as if it was an unquestionable law of the universe. As if they were really brothers and not strangers. It was a sentiment Damian didn’t know how to return.

Todd was the worst. He had seen him, briefly, before he had come to Gotham from the league. His Mother spoke of him rarely, but with pride. He was skilled, if untamed. He avoided the manor and his brothers and their Father. The only one he usually sought was Pennyworth. That is why Todd was the worst. Because he avoided all of them. Because this family had already allowed him to die before and he had come back wrong. A painful reminder that their family has failed. And he fought so hard to remind them all of that failure, every way he chose to keep fighting to live, to prioritize his own life over their Father’s morality. Only to throw it away for Damian. To force him to watch how his brother’s second death shattered their Father and Pennyworth and Grayson in a way that Damian didn’t think they’d survive a second time.

Drake is incomprehensible. Antithetical. A cosmic error. Impossible. There is no love between them, no grudging respect, nothing. Damian can’t stand to look at the person who he feels is a disgrace to the costume Damian now wears. He is the one who dies for Damian the most. The one he can’t possibly understand. The brother he has the least time to question, who gives him the least answers as to his motivations. Who will both die for Damian and refuse to utter a word to him in the same loop. It is madness. Damian needs to prove himself above this embarrassment, and yet Drake chooses to be beneath him. To die for him. It is in spite of Damian’s skill that Drake dies, and Damian hates him for it.

[flowerandblood]

The Last Word (Oneshot)

 [ canon • Aemond x lady-in-waiting • female ]

[ warnings: angst, humiliation, hard chauvinism, suicide, characters death, a lot of pain, because I felt like it ]

[ description: Being Princess Helaena's lady-in-waiting is her dream come true. However, because of one exchange overheard by the king's second son, Prince Aemond, she may lose everything. The prince gives her conditions she cannot refuse, and she accepts them, not knowing that her life will change forever. This is an Anon Request in which the heroine is flat-chested. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

Being princess Helaena's lady-in-waiting was an honour for her. She was a maiden of great beauty and culture, gentle and warm, often immersed in her own world of musings, unable to maintain relationships with other women.

They did not want to understand her, depending on her favour for purely selfish reasons, because of which they acted in an exemplary manner around her, however, as soon as the princess disappeared from their sight, they commented loudly on her behaviour.

"Did you see that disgusting spider she showed to us lately? I believe she even gave it a name. Poor thing." Murmured one of them, a fair-haired beauty, Lord Lannister's niece. She furrowed her brow at her words, feeling discomfort, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You owe her everything you have. Your position, your wealth, your future marriage. Speak of her with respect." She said coolly, the girl approached her, unhappy with the way she had expressed her opinion, the rest of them remained silent, not wanting to get unnecessarily involved in an argument.

"Who are you to lecture me? You came here, some poor lady from the North whose father probably wallows in the muck around his grey castle every day. You don't even look like a woman, your chest is as flat as a child's, I don't know if even the support of a princess will help you find a man to desire you." She snarled, her golden dress shimmering in the sun hovering high above the Red Keep. She swallowed loudly at her insult, pressing her lips together, feeling the tears of shame burning under her eyelids, not letting them flow.

"I see you like to divert attention from your vices. Unfortunately, outward appearances are of little use when the rot has started on the inside. The fish, as they say, rots from the head." She said calmly, she heard a slap and then felt a painful burning sensation on her cheek, Lady Lannister looked at her with wide eyes, red with rage, the girls around them covered their mouths at the sight of her slapping her.

"How dare you, you… my prince −" She muttered, horrified, bowing quickly, she had to look over her shoulder to notice a tall, black silhouette behind her, the face of Prince Aemond, the king's second son, was stony and cold, he was looking down at them with some kind of disgust that sent shivers down her spine.

She swallowed loudly at the thought that he had heard their entire conversation, including what had been said about his sister.

"I will convey to the princess how devoted her ladies-in-waiting are." He said lowly, impassively, throwing her one cool look, turning tense, wanting to leave.

Lady Lannister cried pleadingly behind him that it had been a misunderstanding, and then threw herself at her, the other girls having to drag her away from her as she became completely enraged.

"You will pay for this." She hissed, but she didn't care, thinking only that it was the wrath of someone else that she feared.

She spent the afternoon in her chamber, tense and terrified at the thought that she would have to return home to her three brothers and four sisters, that she would once again be the youngest, unseen child, one of many of the same grey existence.

She shuddered as she heard a knock on her door, and a moment later a servant appeared inside, looking at her with uncertain, frightened eyes.

"Prince Aemond wants to see you, my lady."

She thought she was going there as if he was about to behead her, guessing what awaited her and that she would surely be informed that, like the rest of the ladies of the court, she was going back to where she had come from.

The door to his chamber opened before her and she stepped inside, noticing his silhouette sitting with his back to her with his legs crossed, he was reading a book without even bestowing a single glance on her, he only spoke to her when they were left alone.

"Tell me exactly what you were discussing." He commanded in a low, impassive voice, turning the page with an impatient, smooth motion.

She lowered her gaze, playing with the fingers of her hands in a nervous gesture, feeling her heart pounding like mad, sweat on her back.

"Lady Lannister mocked the princess for naming her spider. I replied that she should speak of her with more respect." She said in a trembling voice, heard him hum under his breath, still looking at the book, bored.

"What did the other ladies-in-waiting said?" He continued, and she blinked, wondering what to answer.

She didn't want to portray them in a bad light.

"They didn't say anything, because Lady Lannister likes to say ill-considered things." She muttered, trying to defend them in some way, not wanting to be vindictive, though part of her mind opted for her to take the opportunity.

"The fish rots from the head." He murmured, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, an all-consuming shame spread through her body at the thought of him hearing this exchange of words.

Gods, what a humiliation, she thought with tears in her eyes.

She did not reply.

She shuddered as he stood up and moved towards her, looking at him with big eyes, surprised, it seemed to her that he was even taller than she had always assumed, watching him from afar.

"Am I to believe that you happen to be the only person who defended my sister?" He asked with a note of mockery and impatience from which she felt a stab of pain in her heart, the fact that he thought she was saying all this out of vanity.

"That is not what I said. You are changing the meaning of my words, my prince." She replied without thinking and lowered her gaze, feeling his whole body tense up after her insolent statement, which could cost her everything.

"You think men desire women who don't know when to be silent?" He hissed, she didn't dare look at him, however, she decided that since all was lost anyway, she wouldn't leave his question unanswered.

"I think men desire what they desire. There's no great philosophy behind it." She replied, and he snorted, as if he didn't believe she still had the courage to speak.

"Do you think men are mere animals, my lady?" He asked with a sneer; she pressed her lips together, frustrated that he was still using her words in a context that did not at all follow from what she had actually said.

"I think this discussion is fruitless. If you wish to send me away, my prince, please do so, just let me bid the princess farewell and express how sorry I am for what has happened and what you have unfortunately witnessed." She said feeling that she had lost patience, tired and resigned, imagining in the back of her mind her return home.

"Just a moment ago you were the one accusing me of not understanding the meaning of your words." He said disapprovingly, and she looked at him surprised, seeing that he had turned away, walking back towards his chair, sitting down on it with a loud creak of wood.

"You stay. You will be my eyes and ears. If any of the ladies who surround my sister speak that way about her behind her back or do other things unworthy of their position, you will report it to me." He ordered coolly, and she swallowed loudly, shocked.

"Do you have anything else to convey to me?" He asked impatiently, looking over his shoulder at her, and she shook her head quickly.

"No, my prince."

"You may leave."

She nodded, wanting to leave his chamber immediately, but stopped in mid-step, feeling her heart pounding fast, wondering if she should do this.

She swallowed hard, turning back, hearing that she had not left his quarters he threw her a frustrated, sharp look.

"Prince Aegon." She started, but he only tightened his lips.

"No."

She grunted quietly and bowed to him, opening the door and stepping out into the corridor, thinking with pain and disappointment that she had at least tried.

She could not count the number of times she had witnessed Princess Helaena's husband entertaining himself with servants, even flirting with the ladies of the court, avoiding her for obvious reasons.

She looked like a child.

Lady Lannister was stripped of her position, which she accepted with satisfaction, the other girls knowing that Prince Aemond stopped her once in a while to speak to her began to fear her, thinking apparently that she had become his mistress.

"How is my sister?" He asked her one day as she was just passing through the courtyard when he was training with Ser Criston Cole, seeing her he ordered a break and approached her, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword stuck in the ground.

She sighed heavily, covering herself more tightly with the thin blue cloak she was wearing.

"She sleeps badly. Prince Aegon wakes her up at night when he comes back drunk from…. we must then lead him to his chamber, and she is restless until morning." She said tiredly, knowing that, as usual, she had been lecturing him about how his brother had a bad influence on her and was the cause of her unhappiness, and that, like always, he would do nothing about it.

She saw him lick his lips in a sign of impatience, looking to the side.

"Anything else?"

"No."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his nostrils quivering, she knew her attitude and form of expression devoid of courtesy frustrated him.

He swallowed loudly and pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say something else, shifting from foot to foot, an awkward silence fell between them.

"If I were her husband, I would make sure that she could at least feel safe. My current role ties my hands." He replied after a moment, and she lowered her gaze, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he had just confided in her. She nodded with sympathy, thinking that his words spoke well of him.

"I know. You are a man of honour. I also regret that such an injustice has befallen her, my prince. She has been deprived of the good husband she deserves." She said looking at him, wanting him to know that she understood his pain, something changed in his face, in his gaze flashed something like surprise and pain.

He nodded, letting her know that he had nothing more to convey to her, and turned back towards Criston Cole.

She moved ahead, thinking that she truly respected him as a man.

However, a few months later, something happened that changed their lives forever.

Prince Aemond returned from Storm's End along with the word that he had murdered his nephew.

A great war broke out, Princess Helaena's son was murdered, her husband suffered great wounds in the battle, and their younger brother flew to Harrenhal only to find that the stronghold was empty and to give his life to the woman everyone believed to be a witch, into whom he had put his bastard child.

Long months passed before she saw him again, a servant entered her chamber late in the evening as she was already preparing for sleep, informing her that Prince Aemond had arrived at the keep and demanded her presence.

She hurriedly put on her robe, covering her nightgown, without even having time to tie up her hair, and headed for his chamber. As she stepped inside she felt a squeeze in her throat when she saw his familiar silhouette sitting as usual in a chair right next to the fire, gazing into the flames, even though they had spoken many times, he now frightened her more than ever before.

"Has her condition improved in any way?" He asked coolly, looking at her only after a moment, she saw something similar to surprise flash across his face when he saw what she looked like, a glimpse of his healthy eye sweeping over her figure.

She swallowed hard, looking down at her hands, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart.

It was getting worse.

"No." She whispered, and heard him sigh heavily, burying his face in his hand, tired and defeated.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, not hearing any further questions or his words that she should leave, she didn't know what she should do with herself so she stood still, looking around his chamber anxiously. An idea suddenly occurred to her and she licked her lips quickly, deciding that perhaps she should say it out loud.

"Your visit would certainly lift her spirits, my prince." She said finally, but he laughed mockingly at her words, shaking his head in disbelief, she felt an unpleasant shiver run down her spine.

"A visit from the man whose actions led to the murder of her son. Most certainly." He replied, revealing his face, spreading himself comfortably in his chair with a loud creak of old wood, placing his hands on the armrests, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm going to be a father."

She looked at him, horrified, swallowing loudly, surprised that he had said such a thing out loud. She felt her whole body quivering, that this conversation was overwhelming her, for some reason she felt a dull, piercing pain in her heart, something akin to a huge, sad disappointment.

"I am aware."

"What do you think of me, my lady?"

Silence.

"Go on. I've always appreciated your sharp tongue." He hummed, tapping his index finger against the wood on which his hand lay.

"There is nothing I can say on the matter. I'm not well-read on the subject of lovers and mistresses." She replied, and he sneered under his breath, there was something mischievous in the sound, but also a kind of relief, as if for some reason he needed to speak to someone about the matter.

She didn't know if he was aware of it, or if he was trying to confide in her subconsciously, unable to hold it in anymore.

"I'm curious what you would think of her if you met her. About my Alys." He muttered under his breath, the woman's name sounded mysterious and proud, he said it lingeringly, as if thoughtful, as if saying it he saw her face in his mind.

For some reason she felt a burning wetness under her eyelids.

My Alys.

She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in her throat, her body trembling, trying with all her might to stop what was happening to her, not to think or feel, but a single, solitary tear ran down her cheek anyway.

Before she managed to wipe it away his gaze settled on her face and stayed on it, his lips parted in disbelief, as if he had only just realised that his words were inappropriate.

It seemed to her that he wanted to say something, to apologise, but his voice stuck in his throat as she covered her mouth and laughed desperately, tears flew, flew and flew down her face, as if something inside her had burst.

"− she is surely a wonderful woman − and now, with your permission, I would like to return to my chamber −" She muttered with a grief-stricken smile, wiping her cheeks, eyes and nose, knowing that she was now as red as the tomatoes from which she had eaten soup that evening.

She left immediately when she saw that he had nodded, and it was only behind the door of her quarters that she burst into a loud, uncontrollable sob.

She had never gotten her hopes high, she had watched and loved him from afar, in silence and humility, but his words seemed downright cruel to her, as if he knew he would hurt her with them.

She had always been faithful to him and his family, so why had he humiliated her?

The next day she avoided the places where she could meet him, spending all her free time in his sister's chamber, who lay in her bed, gazing at the sky outside the window. She sat beside her and held her hand, as she had always done for many months.

There was nothing more she could do for her.

She helped her bathe, dress, walk and lie down.

Although she tried to engage in conversation with her, the princess locked herself in her mind and did not leave it.

She did not come out of her chamber until late in the evening, heading to her rooms, exhausted, walking inside with a loud sigh, throwing the books she had been reading in the meantime onto her bed.

She shuddered and screamed, frightened, catching her heart when she heard movement behind her, saw his silhouette rise from a chair standing on the other side of her quarters.

"− gods −" She muttered, sighing heavily in relief, thinking that perhaps it was some kind of assassin again, trying to calm herself down.

He didn't even say a word when he approached her in a lazy, unhurried step, towering over her with his figure, holding his hands entwined behind his back, his face impassive and thoughtful, his lips clenched into a thin line.

"I am returning to Harrenhal. Another uprising has broken out." He began, and she felt that painful tightness in her throat again. She nodded and clenched her eyelids, wanting to show him that she understood and that he did not need to explain anything to her, he continued, however. "I trust only you. I wish you to keep me informed of what is happening in the keep."

"As you wish, my prince." She said quietly, looking blankly at his chest, angry and bitter that she felt a pleasant heat in her lower abdomen and a tickle in her fingertips from his distinctive scent, a mixture of male sweat, dust and smoke.

She didn't understand why he stood there and remained silent, why he couldn't leave her alone, why he was torturing her.

"After what happened in Storm's End, for many nights I considered taking you by force. I came close to doing it many times, close to taking you with me to Harrenhal, but I spared you." He whispered in a quiet, trembling voice and she shook her head quickly, horrified by his words and how much they hurt her, she wondered how he could be saying this to her now, what purpose it would serve.

"I am grateful to you for your mercy. It will not be forgotten." She said in a hollow, impassive voice, from which he swallowed hard and tense all over, she heard him draw in a loud, impatient breath.

"Do you resent me for this? Would you rather I made you my whore? Hm? Nothing is lost yet." He hissed, taking a step towards her, and she stepped back, looking into his face with a fury from which she saw the hesitation in his eye.

"Get out. Run to her. Enjoy the birth of a child similar to those you have despised all your life." She said coldly, saw something flash across his face and for a moment thought in disbelief that her words, her rejection had hurt him.

He swallowed hard, turned and simply walked away, as he always did, leaving only a void behind him.

The word of his defeat, that he and his uncle had fallen from the sky, that Daemon's sword had pierced his skull, reached her and sliced through her heart like a dagger.

She wept that day in her bed thinking of all the things she had never told him, of how deep inside her even though he had broken her heart, she recognised as an act of his warm affection and respect that he had not stripped her of her dignity, that in thinking of her he had given up himself and his desires, even though a part of her wanted so much for him to destroy her.

Helaena threw herself from the window a few days later, and her death, the most innocent of them all, made her lose her reason for living.

She thought of following in her footsteps, but instead, before the troops of the Blacks occupied the keep she fled, heading along the king's tract to Harrenhal and then beyond to where he was last seen.

She felt a sense of relief when she jumped off the cliff, as if she was free at last, the water she fell into was icy.

The thought of death terrified her and calmed her at the same time, she thought for a moment her body would struggle for one more breath and then it would resign itself to its fate and become silent forever.

She felt a squeeze in her throat, the last warm sensation surging through her lower abdomen as she sank down into the darkness and recognized in the distance his long, white hair.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Colour My Mind, Bring Me Back

Chapter VI: Silver and Gold I Series Masterlist Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife

Summary: Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen returns to King’s Landing victorious after besting his uncle during The Battle Above the Gods Eye, securing his withering brother's claim to the Iron Throne. Upon his arrival, he learns that his wife was a casualty of a Black ambush, suffering a severe blow to her skull.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns (3rd person), angst, canon divergence (Aemond survives), war trauma, depictions of violence, head injury, amnesia, ableism, medieval medicinal practices, longing, yearning, major character death, smut (loss of virginity, P in V), allusions to Aemond’s 13th name day and Storm’s End

Word Count: 4600

A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s sent me kind words over the last couple of days, it really warm my heart and I truly care for you all ❤️ I’m spending time with my family but had some time to spare and finished editing this chapter. I’ll be back properly after Easter. Enjoy!

When she wakes in the morning, the stone of dread that had been weighing heavy in her belly is still there, anchoring her to the bed. 

Despite her best efforts, the young Queen had not been able to please her husband. 

He had not only scolded her. His outburst had also taught her that no matter how hard she tries to be the wife she thinks he desires, she still does not know him, nor does she know what he truly craves. 

When he stormed out of her chambers, upset that she did not call him by his name, she’d felt tears spill down her cheek. 

It would be so much easier if she knew what was expected of her; what he was expecting of her. 

The more she pondered upon the predicament she’s tangled in, the more she starts to resent her husband. 

He has not provided her with any substantial insights into her previous life. 

He has not helped her remember. He has not tried to trigger her memory, nor has he tried to speak with her and explain exactly what it is he expects from her. 

Did he think she’d know things naturally? That she’d just fall into her old ways without actually remembering them? 

Did he expect her to still be the same person, even when she could not remember who she had been before? 

It felt unfair; the feeling that she was continuously making mistakes.

This could not only be blamed on her. Yesterday's misunderstanding could not only be placed on her. ��

She noticed a new sensation of aggitation grow within her as she thought of her husband. 

He was not cruel to her, or at least he wasn’t showing her cruelty, but he also was not helpful, nor particularly kind. 

The night before, she was the one who had tried to consummate their marriage. 

She was the one who insisted that he needed to bed her, for she understands the gravity of the duty they have towards the realm now that they are King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

She knows that without an heir, no one will accept their union. 

She had been informed of this. Taught this from a young age. If there's anything she truly knows about Westeros, it is that a woman’s worth lies in her womb. 

For her husband to deny her an heir by continuously refusing to bed her must mean that he does not respect her. He does not want her to stay. 

Perhaps he’s hoping that she will not fall pregnant so that he may claim her barren and take another wife? 

Are those his true intentions? That he’d rather dispose of her, the halfwit, than allow her to restore herself into the noble lady she once was? 

The storm of emotions inside her comes to an abrupt halt when she hears a low knock on her door. 

Lady Lannister’s belly flips in anxiety, expecting her husband’s tall frame to emerge from the corridor. Surprisingly, it is not him, but his mother that joins her this morning. 

The Dowager Queen appears distraught. Still, she offers her son's wife a genuine smile, bowing her head slightly as she greets her. 

“Your grace”

She curtsies to her good mother, observing her with curiosity while internally searching for the right question to ask. 

Am I allowed to be blunt? 

To ask her why she’s here? 

Or should I assume that this is something we often engage in, and cordially invite her to break her fast with me? 

Before Lady Lannister is forced to make a decision, Alicent speaks,

“May I join you in breaking your fast?” 

“Of course”, the young Queen says, offering Alicent a smile of her own, surely reflecting the melancholy that distorts her mother-in-law’s gaiety. 

She takes her son's seat while Lady Lannister sits down at her usual spot observing Blackwater Bay. They begin to break their fast in stillness, the only sound bouncing across the stone walls of her chambers being clink of cutlery. 

After a few moments of a silence that is not suffocatingly intense yet not comfortable, she remembers her manners,  

“I am sorry for your loss, your grace”

Her eyes dart to Alicent’s fingers. The skin around her nails has been peeled back by her unease; red and painful. 

Grandmaster Orwyle’s words echo in her mind. 

‘Tis true. 

Everyone has suffered through this war. 

Though she cannot see her mother-in-law‘s battle wounds, she knows they are slowly killing her from the inside. 

Alicent fiddles with a piece of bread, fingers slowly peeling the outer layers of the bun back, carelessly turning it to crumbles between her hands. 

She smiles solemnly, her glassy eyes glimmering as they reflect the light of the candles adorning their table. 

“I am grateful to still have you, sweetling”, she says, features turning somewhat grave as she adds, “You and Aemond are what I have left now”

Lady Lannister does not know what to answer. Instead, she reaches over the table to place her hand in one of Alicent’s, meeting her gaze in a silent moment of shared grief. 

She squeezes her hand in return, lips parting as she inhales shakily and releases a heartbreaking sigh. They sit like that for a while, neither saying anything. 

“May I ask you something?”, Alicent inquires. 

Her son’s wife nods in affirmation. 

“They say you were near death when the Black army attacked. We did not know if you were ever coming back to us”, another shaky breath leaves her lips, “Did you see him?” 

Lady Lannister’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, “See who?”  

“The stranger”, she replies, eyes widening as she appears more frantic, “Or one of the other faces of the Seven? Please tell me you saw something” 

She recognises the desperate searching Alicent’s eyes regard her with. 

She knows that feeling; yearning for comfort. Clinging on to the hope that she’ll assure her the world is not as crushingly vile as it seems. 

It would be cruel to dismiss the Dowager Queen’s plea. But it would be equally as cruel to blind her with a lie.

Truthfully, she does not remember any part of the ambush. Even her memories of the days following her awakening have started to blur in her mind, a new addition to her tragic fate she does not wish to ponder upon for too long. 

“Sadly, I did not”, she begins, and in the briefest of moments, she watches the sliver of hopefulness in Alicent’s eyes die.  

“He never visited me since I was not dying” 

“You’re right”, she says, large, brown eyes flooding with emotion. It is hard to read her intentions; does she feel relief or devastation? 

Comfort or resignation? 

“I-, I just wish to know. If they are being looked after. If they’ve found peace”, she continues, grip on her daughter-by-marriage’s hand tightening. 

“I-, I could not, I-, I did not look after them. I failed as a mother”, her voice cracks as she speaks. 

“Who will care for them now that they’ve left us? Who-, Who will greet me when my time comes?” 

“Alicent-“, Lady Lannister whispers, unsure if the familiarity of calling her by her name is welcomed or harmful. 

“-do you still believe in the Seven? How could the Mother allow for so much suffering? H-, How could the Father see it just that my daughter had to witness her own son's massacre?”

Her voice is panicked now. The tears shimmering in her eyes fall down from her lashes as she hopelessly begs for comfort. 

“Will the Seven continue to punish me? Have I not suffered enough?” 

Grand Maester Orwyle’s words of caution ring in her mind. Just like herself and her husband, the Dowager Queen carries wounds with her from The Dance obscured from the naked eye. Yet, they persist, scarring her from the inside. 

Am I the lucky one? 

Mayhaps not remembering was the greatest gift the Seven could have bestowed upon her. 

Mayhaps the tragedy of ignorance was lesser than the horrors of remembering a war where kin slayed kin. 

“I grieve with you”, she offers in comfort, eyes locking with Alicent’s, “This war has done great damage to all of us” 

Her tearful yet warm eyes briefly close as she nods, whispering a quiet thank you before letting go of Lady Lannister’s hand and picking up her tea. 

The young Queen mirrors her predecessor, sipping at her tea while enjoying the brief moment of silence. Alicent’s emotional outburst seems to have lessened the tension in the room somewhat, which she is thankful for. 

As they continue to break their fast, her eyes drift towards the uncaring waves of Blackwater Bay ruthlessly whipping towards the capital’s shore. This morning is dark and cloudy; as if a storm’s approaching, and the sea seems more ferocious, more unforgiving, than usual. 

“You are still as dear to me as ever, sweet girl. Give my son some time, he always takes longer” 

Like many times before, she feels a potent nostalgia overtake her being. Only this time, the sensation nearly causes tears of frustration to well up in her eyes. 

Why can she feel so fiercely without remembering? 

Why can certain words trigger her insensible self to feel yet not know?

Why must her mind stay so useless? 

If bloodletting drains her physically, breaking her fast with Alicent drains her emotionally. 

Fatigued, she remains in her chair for a while as she gathers her thoughts after the Dowager Queen had left her chambers. She expects the prompt visit of Grand Maester Orwyle and Maester Alfador to halt her wandering mind, but the awaited distraction does not come. 

Lady Lannister’s eager to utilise the sparse vigour she still possesses before the leeches steal it. She lets her eyes roam across the vast chambers she spends most of her time in. 

Her gaze lands on the wide, wooden library shelves. Dark in colour and imposingly tall, the massive piece looms over her. 

It is filled with tomes. Some appearing to have been opened hundreds of times, others look like newer additions. 

She remembers what Aemond told her; that they used to read together by the hearth. That he used to read to her. She almost laughs at the image; the frightening Kinslayer King of the Seven Kingdoms reading to his wife as she sits by his feet, eyes concentrated on the needle and thread piercing the fabric in her hands, ears enthusiastically taking in whatever her husband says. 

Did he read her factual scriptures produced by Maesters in Oldtown? Or indulge her in fantasies about life across the Narrow Sea? 

Did they read to learn and gain wisdom, or to momentarily escape the Red Keep together? 

Like every day of the short life she knows, she feels a faint flame of hope ignite within her at the possibility that this might be the day when she remembers something. 

She knows that it is in vain, and the added pressure that hope brings does little to calm her yearning for recollection. Still, when she spots a worn tome about the Doom of Valyria, she experiences a feeling of familiarity new to her. 

Picking up the tome, she notices something else hiding behind it. A leatherbound collection of notes; brown in colour and with small carvings of coldsnaps decorating the spine. Two long, braided pieces of leather twist around the middle, ensuring that it does not fall open on accident. 

Curious, the young Queen’s fingers work quickly to unravel the braided strings. The smell of leather whiffing from between her hands feels nostalgic in the same way her earlier conversation with the Dowager Queen did; a sensation equally familiar as it was unexplainably heartbreaking. 

She takes a seat in the armchair facing the glowing hearth and begins to read. 

I spoke with Alicent again today. 

Though her pitying looks first gave me some comfort, they now vex me. 

She's the one responsible for my suffering, yet she poses as my friend?! 

I tried my hardest not to let my heartbreak show on the outside, yet she must have known, for her eyes appeared as if they were aching with me. 

She is not the one denied a betrothal. 

I am. 

She told me that Aemond has agreed to do his duty and fly to Storm’s End. 

I know I have no say in the matter. 

Her words caused an ache in my chest so fierce I wondered if she’d pulled a dagger on me. It felt like my heart twisted over itself. Like I was going to spit it out in grief. 

But I did not cry. 

If Aemond’s accepted the arrangement, I know how he feels. 

I refuse to cry over him. 

The first page is not dated nor signed. It consists solely of hastily written passages and sentences. 

Could this be her writing? An invaluable insight to the person she was before her mind was erased? 

Lady Lannister almost shivers with anticipation at the revelation. These are her words. 

I have not been to the library for days, so I have not seen him. 

I suspect he is the reason why the Queen has visited me each day and asked me to have tea with her. The strength I have to muster not to slam the door in her face feels mountainous. 

Today, she assured me that I would be allowed some say in whose hand I accept in marriage. 

She smiled and told me that Lord Elmo Tully had spoken to my Father about a betrothal between me and his son, Kermit. I wanted to hurl my body over the table and claw her eyes out. Married off to some fish-stinking Lord of the Riverlands? I’d rather throw myself from the walls surrounding Maegor's Holdfast.

Lady Lannister noticed another hastily scribbled sentence at the bottom of the page. 

Aemond left a note by my door, ordering me to meet him in the library at the hour of the eel. I will not be attending. 

She re-reads the passage twice to make sure she has not missed any crucial details before eagerly flipping the page. 

I went to the library.

He tried to embrace me. I am proud to say that I did not cry before him, nor did I entertain his idea of keeping me close by. He asked me to continue residing in the Red Keep even after his wedding to the Baratheon. He told me that we could still stay close, even when he has a wife.

‘Tis only a marriage born of duty he said. 

I informed him that I will be marrying Lord Tully and moving to the Riverlands shortly.

If he can hurt me, I can hurt him too.

A loud thud causes Lady Lannister’s body to jolt in shock, head reflectively turning to the interrupting noise. 

Her husband, stoic as always, mutters a low apology as he closes the door he’d so thunderously forced open. 

“Where are the Maesters?”

His wife, still stunned by his sudden intrusion yanking her from the immersive reading she’d lost herself in, panics and frantically searches inwardly for a reply. She’d been so emerged she hadn’t even noticed their absence. 

“I-, I do not know”, she replies honestly. 

“Mm” 

The new King takes in his surroundings cautiously, seeing eye slowly raking over the vast quarters. He approaches his wife wearily; tense and uneasy as always. 

His seeing eye lands on the leather-bound memoir between her hands and for a moment the careful mask of stoicism he hides behind cracks. 

“Where did you find that?” 

His voice carries urgency, bordering on accusatory as he darts toward with a speed she did not know him capable of and snatches the memoir from her grip. 

“Behind a tome”, she says meekly, remembering his outburst the night before. Her husband’s volatile temper makes it hard for Lady Lannister to feel affection towards him, would he embrace her willingness to learn or berate her? 

He hums again, inspecting the binding in his hand but not opening it. His fingers graze over the delicate carvings adorning the leather, seemingly lost in thoughts he does not care to share with his wife. 

Without looking inside, he hands it back to her, taking a seat and settling for observing the hearth together with her. 

Selfish as it may be, Lady Lannister does not appreciate his impromptu visit. 

She internally prays to the Seven that he’ll leave so she may continue her captivating read. Her husband, seemingly full of surprises on this grey and gloomy day, reminisces aloud, 

“Did you know that you used to call me ‘silver’ when we were children?”

Her head snaps to the side, observing his profile as his gaze stays trained on the fire burning lowly before them. She shakes her head in reply, wondering if he can see her in the corner of his eye. 

“When we first met, both far too young and bold, I was quite proud of my Valyrian descent”, he says, still not turning to meet her eyes. 

“I informed you of my ancestors superiority; of how we are born dragon riders. In retaliation, you informed me of your fathers words: ‘gold can make a man do anything’. You also brashly reminded me that gold is far more valuable than silver” 

The King almost sounds amused as he speaks, mindlessly letting his wife know that although he calls her brash, it’s a memory he holds dear. 

She lets out a startled giggle at her own cheekiness, swiftly muffled by her hand against her mouth. Aemond appears a bit more relaxed, not angered by her mirthful reaction. 

“I misunderstood you for a long time. The first gift I ever gave you was on your sixteenth name day. A necklace made of rubies. I told you it was a part of me and you; the colour that unites House Targaryen and Lannister. You asked me ‘what else’” 

Perplexed, she repeats his words, “What else?”

There is the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Yes, what else. You did not find my reasoning… poetic enough” 

His tone turns slightly more serious as he concludes, 

“You always pushed me to do better. To be better”

Lady Lannister’s still observing his profile, as if in a trace. 

“So I began to create your gifts myself”

A smile pulls at her lips for the first time in her husband’s presence. He created the gifts he gave her himself? Was there anything in here that’s been forged by his hand?  

Just as she’s about to let her curiosity get the best of her and indulge him in a few more queries, the heavy door to her chambers burst open once more. 

In strides Maester Alfador, alone and with his head held high. His proud posture falters somewhat as he notices the King's presence. 

“Your grace”, he greets, bowing to the royal pair. 

”Where’s Grand Maester Orwyle?”, Aemond asks, fingers impatiently tapping on the wooden armrest of his seat. 

The irritation on Maester Alfador’s face is evident; signalling his clear distaste for the young King. Still, he quickly schools his face into submissive compliance, feigning respect,

“The Grand Maester’s wisdom was needed elsewhere. I will be conducting the bloodletting today” 

Aemond lets another hum vibrate from his throat, and his wife wonders if he’s even aware of the sound leaving his lips. Displeased, he hastily turns towards the door and exits, no longer keen on learning more about the bloodletting occupying his wife’s morning. 

The greying man blows out a relieved sigh, cautiously approaching his queen as her husband shuts the door behind him. 

Free from the oppressive judgement of the Regent, he skilfully grips the silver tongs in his hand and lowly murmurs, “Demented King does not even know what’s real anymore, the pompous cretin” 

He came to my chambers earlier. I know he tried to call my bluff about the Tully boy, but I did not give in. 

He caved first. He asked if I could forgive him. 

Lady Lannister hasn't been this occupied by anything since her awakening. Reading her old entries feels all-consuming; like enjoying the finest of Arbour Golds. 

Her eager gaze scans the paper hungrily, ensuring she reads each passage at least twice. The passage at the bottom of the page looks somewhat different, as if it had been added a few hours, or days, later. 

To speak the truth, my heart ached when he said it. 

I know there’s nothing to forgive. 

‘Tis only our duty. 

I have been selfish. My selfish desire to keep him for myself led me to act foolish. 

But I do think I will accept Lord Tully’s request. I will not be able to bear the sight of Aemond with another, and I will not live a life in despair. 

She had assumed a proper, noble lady like herself would not speak so plainly, even when writing what was meant for her eyes only. 

It seems like she wasn’t afraid to make her desires known; at least not to herself. The heartbreak she feels over Aemond marrying another sends painful bolts of dread shooting within her chest. 

We agreed to continue our usual routine, at least until he has to fly off. 

Perhaps I can leave the capital while he’s away.

No one had informed her of this time in her life, when Aemond was meant to fly to Storm’s End to propose a marriage pact with one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters while Alicent paired her up with a Lord of the Riverlands. She assumed it was all a feeble attempt at securing allies before the impending war, yet her heart aches. 

When we're alone in the library and he seeks out my hand to hold as we read together, I want to cry. 

When he thoughtlessly runs his thumb over my skin, I want to cry.

All I want to do is cry. 

I will not cry! 

The ache in her chest grows stronger as she reads. 

She aches for the shell of a person she is left as now. 

She aches for the young heartbroken girl she was. 

When we said goodnight earlier, he kissed my brow.  

I wonder if he loves me?

She tries to pause between the passages to truly take them in. 

Does growing up together and holding the other dear equal love? How do you define love? 

I am torn. 

I do not want to appear weak, yet I feel as if I will soon burst if I do not tell Aemond that I love him. 

It is thoughtless, and meaningless. 

It does not matter if I love him, or if he loves me back, for he’ll soon leave and bring his new bride home. 

Yet I wonder if she’ll ever tell him? 

Will she grow to love him? 

If this is the only time for him to hear it, I will not let him live a life without knowing that he was loved.

As her eyes drink each word on the pages with an unquenchable thirst, her mind races. Perhaps willingly risking a lifetime of suffering only to make the one you care for content equals love?

Last night was our last night together. 

I had plans on visiting his chambers, yet when I was waiting for nightfall, he came to mine. 

I knew I needed to tell him. 

Not for my own selfish desires, but for him. 

So that he knows that he holds my heart. 

Hopefully not forever. 

We sat together by the hearth when I said it. 

He seemed taken aback, and it stung my heart to see him stunned by my confession. 

I tried to reassure him that it would not change anything, I understand the duty he has to the Realm. 

For the first time since the announcement of his betrothal, he kissed me.

It did not feel like a sin. It felt just like each time before. 

I could not restrain from crying any longer. 

I am not as strong as I wish I was. 

He told me that he loves me too. 

So that I know as well. 

Even if the Fish Lord cannot love me, I know that once someone did. 

Selfishly, I asked him for one last favour before we said goodbye. 

He told me he’d do anything. 

I asked him to bed me, so that I would know how it feels to be loved. 

I’d always thought he’d be my first, and I, his. On the night of our wedding. 

Foolish dreams for a foolish girl. 

He said that it would not be his first, not truly. I cannot see how the whore he was made to bed on his name day could count as his first. 

The tears in her eyes make it hard for Lady Lannister to continue reading. 

She quickly runs the sleeve of her dress under her eyes to wipe away the tears spilling, takes a deep breath and reads the next passage. 

Septa Tysha lied. 

It did not hurt. 

I did not feel any discomfort. 

It felt right. As if we’ve spent a lifetime not knowing we’re supposed to love each other. 

We’ve kissed before, sometimes for so long that I felt dizzy. 

But we’ve never melted into each other like we did last night. 

‘Twas only us, hidden under the furs on my bed. His skin was so warm and soft, especially the tender flesh on the inside of his upper arm. 

He told me he loved me so many times I lost count. 

We stayed together all night, until the sun interrupted our solace. 

I felt loved. 

I hope he did too. 

Lady Lannister spends the rest of the afternoon planted on the armchair by the hearth, not even allowing the fatigue of the morning’s bloodletting to hinder her from reading. 

Excitement, grief, curiosity and confusion swirl in her belly, almost causing her to feel sick. 

Though she’s grateful to have found the memoir, reading it does not feel like a leisurely affair, nor does it lift her spirits in regards to her husband or marriage. 

The emotional suffering she endured when Aemond left her to fly to Storm’s End jumps from the page and aggressively squeezes her heart. 

Mayhaps the Seven truly blessed her when they erased her mind. 

She has forgotten all the heartache she went through, and that continued throughout the war. She does not remember how alone she felt when her lover left her; how he took a piece of her broken heart with him to the Baratheon castle that evening. 

Each passage causes the pit of sorrow in her gut to grow larger. Until, 

He came back.  

He burst into my chambers drenched in rain, hair slick yet untamed. 

He confessed to slaying his nephew above Storm’s End, causing Borros to fume like a chimney and declare him unfit for his four storms. 

I could hardly listen to his confession, from what I can remember he seemed vexed, regretful and prideful. 

All I wanted was to strip him from his leathers and pull him into the secluded warmth under my furs once more.

He complied. 

My recent heartbreak disappeared as soon as I felt him enter me. Unlike our first time, he was harsh and demanding. 

Just as I like him. 

The Seven blessed me by making him a kinslayer. 

He’s mine. 

He’s mine. 

He’s mine. 

He’s mine. 

He’s mine

A/N: Lady Lannister really said RIP Luke but I’m different 💅 TYSM for reading! 💞

Everything taglist: @theoneeyedprince @humanpurposes @valeskafics

[writing-in-glitter-pen]

I’ve given it your name

so I had the sereniteapot conversation with Diluc where he awkwardly offers to name a drink after the traveler and BAM a WAVE no no a FLOOD of inspiration hit me. This dork has all of my attention now. I just have to write about how he falls in love with you ♡

also I CACKLED when the traveler was like ummm...maybe not...

poor Diluc (ㅠ‸ㅠ) he was trying to shoot his shot

don't worry love, I'll fix this.

Diluc x fem!reader II fluff

Nothing could shake Diluc.

In every sense of the word, he was a man of steel. From the way his armor forebodingly clangs as he protects the streets of Mondstadt from the dark of the night to the stone faced expression he wears like a birthmark.

No one could have a conversation with him without shaking in their boots at their approach, wary of drawing his intimidating gaze. Angel's share had a pattern of always being much less rowdy when Diluc was bartending...

Adelinde and Kaeya were the only two people who had no circumspection when it came to their family member. And yes, even though Adelinde is a maid and Kaeya is his estranged brother, there was a silent, subconcious agreement between the three that they were a family...whether they liked it or not...and Adelinde seemed to be the only one to like it.

Adeline could nag Diluc about taking care of himself and Kaeya could bug him to no end without any fear of his retalliation. Sure, Diluc would swing Kaeya like a claymore into the fountain at the heart of the city without a moment of hesitation, but Kaeya would never be afraid of him, not like strangers were.

Diluc did not mind the distance between him and others. He was resolved in limiting his relationships, limiting how close he'd let somone get to him, always concerned with what ulterior motives a person is hiding...

...then you came along.

The night you walked into his tavern, the world seemed to change it's hue. The moment he first saw you, it was like you'd pulled all of the air out of his lungs. You were...so beautiful. Just your features alone moved him in a way no other person had. His eyes followed your movement throughout the room as you mosied around to chat with your aquaintances and friends. An aura of soft, comforting light eminated from you, brightening the atmosphere of the room just by your presence in it.

You were glowing. So much so that he felt like he had to avert his gaze to keep his eyes from burning...but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pry them from you.

For once, he was the one afraid of drawing the attention of another person.

But there you were, propped up on his counter by your forearms, beaming at him like his own personal sun.

"Good evening! Could I get a Death After Noon, please?"

Of course your voice had to ring like the purest silver bell. It sent shivers up his spine. He was truly beginning to wonder if you were an angel...

...to the point that he was so lost in thought he forgot to respond, and he was staring.

It didn't help that his resting gaze was a foreboding grimace.

"...would that be alright?", you asked, confused. Did you offend him?

He came to, giving his head a quick shake and clearing his throat.

"...certainly." was all he could state, quickly turning his attention to fixing your drink.

Diluc had a strict rule against accepting orders for Death After Noons. Whenever a guest would request it, he would authoritatively refuse. The cocktail was Kaeya's favorite drink, so Diluc had banned it from his tavern as a way of deterring his drunkard brother. If Kaeya wanted his treasured liquor, he would just have to bug Diona for it instead...and Diluc felt more secure having Kaeya at her tavern to look after her. But he would never admit to that.

The fact that Diluc had shown not even a moment of reservation at your request had heads turning.

In a blink of an eye, Diluc sat your cocktail in front of you in the prettiest glass he had. Although he hadn't made this drink in who knows how long, he was careful not to let it slip below perfect standards; even though you were only a stranger, he was...desparate for you to like what he made for you.

He expected you to take it and leave like the other patrons did, as no one but a blacked out Venti felt comfortable in the close proximity to him, but you slipped right onto the barstool in front of him and scooted yourself up to sip the drink.

The pleased hum that left your throat had Diluc awash with pride.

You were a treasure.

"So this is your tavern?"

...was that addressed to him? He wasn't sure if he had just hallucinated or not. Did you...want to talk to him?

"...hello?"

With another jolt of recognition, he snapped back to reality. You really were trying to talk to him.

"Sorry, yes. I own the place."

"You must be Diluc then! Kaeya's told me a lot about you."

"Oh, has he."

Fuck.

He could not mask the distaste in his tone, having nearly growled the statement before he could catch himself. If his odd response time and tense physicality hadn't already deterred you, his intimidating attitude was sure to. He braced for your discomfort.

"So you really don't like him!" you giggled, taking another gleeful sip of your drink. "That's alright. Hating your family members comes and goes."

Every statement you made had him reeling. You fell right into step with him despite his awkward pace--everything about him that had even his close aquaintences in a cautious state of mind flew right over your head. You looked right past his guarded demeanor and spoke to him, not his personage.

"...I suppose it does.", he agreed; it was hard not to see your point when your voice was so charming.

The way your twinkling eyes held his softened his gaze--your joyful character brought the faintest upturn to his lips. The cheer in his typically cold expression had the drunkards of the tavern pouring their drinks out--cutting themselves off for the night because the liquor must have them seeing things. Diluc Ragindvr can't smile.

"What's your favorite drink?", you asked, not wanting your conversation to die out. You just had a natural affinity for him; his elusive and restrained character made you want to learn more, and despite his first impressions, he seemed like a nice guy!

As he answered that he doesn't drink and your conversation continued on, he tried to compose the bashfulness your attention caused him, busying himself so he wouldn't have to look you into your gorgeous doe eyes. Their existence alone threatened to send him into cardiac arrest. He was white knuckling his countenance, battling with his body to keep a blush from staining his cheeks every time his gaze met yours.

You were a chatty one, jumping from meaningless topic to meaningless topic with a tell me about this, tell me about that, how do you feel about this?, what do you think about that?

Diluc loathed small talk. Not only did aimless chatter annoy him, he also just wasn't good at making conversation that wasn't straight to the point. He had trouble with bluntness, and had to think about his responses thoroughly before he stated them--it was exhausting to converse properly, so he didn't like to waste energy doing it with no purpose.

...but somehow, it wasn't as hard with you. There was no limit to your understanding, so he felt safe getting tongue-tied or making conversational mistakes. You didn't seem to mind at all, which kept him talking, and if a chat with him would entertain you, he would gladly participate.

You stayed all the way until closing, never leaving the best seat in the house. Even when he had to attend to other customers, breaking the flow of your conversation, you'd wait patiently for his attenion again. You were such a sweetheart, he couldn't imagine what he did to earn your interest, but he was completely, hopelessly stirred by you.

When you tried to pay your tab, he was almost offended, closing your fist before you could set your mora down--an action that sent the palm of his hand that connected with your soft skin ablaze.

"Our discussion was payment enough."

Your smile gripped his heart like a vice, your adorable "thank you" ringing in his ears even after you'd turned and left.

"Eye talg to you all tha time an you don pay my tab?", slurred the drunken bard who had made the dark corner of the bar counter his permanent residence.

"Go home, Venti."

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

From then on, you and Diluc had become budding friends! Your visits to his tavern were always appreciated; you held his willing attenion for as long as you'd stay, and the more you learned about one another, the more your fondness grew.

You two had even started meeting outside of the tavern, taking walks together or sharing lunch--and when you'd need to leave the safety of the nation's gates to run an errand, he'd insist on accompanying you, no matter how busy his work day was.

Soon, the goo-goo eyes you gave each other that the tavern patrons momentarily mistook for the brink of alcohol poisioning became the gossip of Mondstadt. There was not a civillian of the nation that didn't have an interest in the wine tycoon, meaning any crumb about his rumored love life was devoured gluttonously. After the hearsay reached her ears, Donna dissapeared for a week. Now, the flowers in her shop get a little extra water every time you walk by...because she sobs into the pots.

The only person in the entirety of Mondstadt that hadn't been made aware of Diluc's obvious crush was you.

You were too wrapped up in your own feelings for him to notice his hints slapping you across the face.

The way he'd offer to help you out with difficult tasks or get you something that you want, or even go as far as to give you little gifts that he'd come by with you in mind, all went right over your head. Sure, they'd have your heart fluttering, but you were afraid to assume his intentions, mistaking his favor for you as just courteous friendship.

You'd developed quite a collection of his affections: a small bundle of lavender he'd cut for you on his walk into town--that you'd dried and kept as a decoration in your room, a special glass he'd reserved for exclusively your drinks at his tavern, even falcon privilages.

If you needed to send a message to him, it'd be expedited by his dutiful bird. How his falcon always happened to be around when you needed to send word to Diluc, you hadn't a clue...unknowing that he had charged it with looking after you in his stead. He needed to be sure that if you were ever in danger, he'd be alerted immediately; the thought of you being defenseless in the face of peril had him clenching his jaw in anxiety--you were just too perfect to be left vulnerable to the darkness of this world.

Though his heart would sieze with panic every time he had an incoming message from you, assuming you were in desparate need of his help, he couldn't stay mad about the mini heart attack you gave him when the non-emergency message you sent was a sweet invite to yours for tea or a funny thought that had come to your mind.

He kept every single letter.

At a certain point, the sparse, light touches and amorous looks between you two became increasingly indicative of your shared feelings.

After the last time you hosted him for tea, and that moment where you two were saying goodbye at your open front door...standing just close enough to feel one another's breath on your lips...both of you hesitating just long enough for the other one to lean in for a kiss...before he politely cleared his throat and took his leave...

...that had you sleepless, tossing and turning with butterflies, all night.

You were dying for him to make a move on you.

...but that was a challenge for Diluc.

He was respectful to a debilitating degree--the last thing he'd want is to make you uncomfortable if his affection for you is not reciprocated. He'd hate if any mistake of his were to weaken your close relationship.

He didn't have what you two had with anyone else--he cherished your connection. If it was scuttled by his doing, the grief he'd feel would be immense.

And beyond that, he's never been skilled at expressing his emotions. At a certain point, intentionally having your guard up leads to an inability to let anything come out. Every time he's tried to tell you how beautiful you look, how dear to him you are, the words just get jumbled up and can't escape his throat. He always ends up saying something like, "this day has been a nice one.", or, "I appreciate your time.".

He doesn't know that those statements settle in your heart and make their home there. That you don't forget them.

After that moment you shared at your front door, where he had to mentally restrain the animalistic urge to just pull you in for a kiss then and there, he decided he could no longer let his adoration for you go unsaid.

Truly, he knew he had a responsibility to say something for fear that if he didn't, and you continued to see him, he'd eventually lose that mental struggle and throw aside his composure as a gentleman in lieu of satisfying the need to touch you, to have you.

It had become an unbearable craving.

The night he confessed, you'd entered Angel's share at your scheduled time--the hour of night where there's typically a lull in activity at the tavern, when everyone has drank just enough to need to slow down and you can have Diluc's undivided attention.

When you rolled into the seat that practically had your name on it at this point, he'd already had a drink waiting for you in the signature glass he'd gotten for you--modeled after a small lamp grass flower with a blue hue.

From the look of it, you didn't recognize the cocktail he'd made for you, and after taking a sip, you realized it was nothing you'd tasted before; it was sweet like honey and had a sour sting to it with floral notes, and the typical sharp taste of alcohol was well disguised, making it slip down your throat pleasantly.

Your happy hum after tasting a cocktail he'd made for you never failed to fill Diluc with satisfaction.

"Is this a new recipe?"

He nodded once.

"What's in it? It's divine.", you sigh, trying your best to keep from downing it too quickly.

"Mead, honeysuckle, lemon juice, gin...", an influx of nerves ran up from his stomach to his heart, but he refused to cower, "...and all my love for you.".

Your attention snapped from the golden drink to his face, surprise turning your cheeks pink and making your eyes go wide. Your gaze met his, which had been intensely focused on you since you'd walked in. You now found him leaning over you, face just above yours as he supported himself with his large hands on either side of where you sat---less of caging you in, and more of framing you, like a beautiful piece of artwork he stayed to admire.

"...I've given it your name."

This felt like a dream.

He'd formulated a cocktail with you in mind, using a god-given honey wine and the sweetest flower in existance, designing an original, saccharine flavor full of warmth and life...full of his deepest adoration...and gave it your name.

He gave it your name.

"...may I kiss you?", he breathed, a quiet desparation in his voice.

Not a moment after your speechless, timid nod, his restraint snapped and he closed the short distance between you two, finally claiming your lips as his own.

And, just like he imagined,

you were sweet.

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

[belit0]

ahh, i just found out tobirama was about 40 when he became hokage! which makes him even hotter🤭. can you do a hokage tobirama and his young pregnant shy wife meeting his family and like people around the village

I need to EXPLICTLYYYY know where you got that information from bc confirming that he was a daddy brings a different flavor to his character🫠❤️‍🩹

For clarification purposes: Madara is blind in this piece. Hashirama healed Izuna before he died, under Madara's acceptance of peace, and Aniki never took his younger brother's eyes, preferring to go blind rather than steal his sight.

No one dares to look him in the eye, let alone question the possessive hand that won't let go of (Y/N)'s hips. Her belly is too prominent to deny the situation, but no one is used to seeing the current Hokage with his wife.

Senju Tobirama devoted himself to hiding the woman he promised as a bride, unable to tolerate stares at her and unfortunate comments. Both men and women would send lust and desire toward her, and he would have no way to stop them all. What better remedy than to shelter (Y/N) until his ownership is undeniable?

Tobirama can be quite capricious.

The man even went as far as not allowing his own older brother to meet her, Hashirama himself excluded from the equation. To think that the former Hokage could betray his younger brother like that was ridiculous to everyone, but it wasn't about lust with him. No.

Tobirama hid (Y/N) because he refused to lose the one ray of light in his life (after Anija's solar shower, of course). His past is made up of death and disappointment, built as an unfeeling weapon of war by his father, robbed of the ability to empathize with anyone until the creation of Konoha.

His wife brought a peace he didn't know he needed into his life, a breath of fresh air even as nations struggled to not cooperate with peace, freedom among so much horror and suffering. (Y/N) showed him that life could be spent out of survival mode, that he could relax for sleep and accept another person into his bed without danger.

Having found what he always sought without knowing it, Tobirama could not afford to lose it.

Keeping her away from everything and everyone (beyond his possible jealousy) was also composed by the need to protect her, to remove her from the spotlight that inevitably comes with being the Hokage's future wife, to prevent her from being used against him. The albino's attitudes were based on affection, but now that (Y/N) is round with his creation, full of him, he can't help but proudly display her.

He strolls through the market streets with his head held high and his wife tightly in his grip, shooting hostile glances at anyone who looks at them for more than five minutes at a time. Of course he expects people to be surprised, but he doesn't want her to end up with the evil eye either.

"Hokage-Sama! Here, here!" shouts a little old lady from his favorite food stall. He can't ignore people from his village, those who trust him, and comes up to her stall to give her a smile unbecoming of Tobirama. "You look very happy, Hokage-Sama!"

"Ah... how could a man not be, having such a beautiful woman by his side?" And (Y/N) blushes, waving slightly at the little old lady and trying to hide the redness of her cheeks behind the sleeve of her yukata.

The elderly woman smiles, and hands them both a small package of food without accepting anything in return, "here, here, take this, enjoy life!" She practically pushes them out of her stall, and they resume walking to the point they agreed on with Hashirama.

People stare and stare at them, some even dare to congratulate the Hokage, give him blessings, ask if he could feel how many children are there. Some inquiries make him uncomfortable, and with just a blunt look he gets rid of those prying eyes.

They receive more gifts along the way, offerings of love and respect, food and decorations, townspeople declaring their eagerness to meet the Hokage's offspring. Tobirama would not expect to have interacted with so many people in such a short distance, and his social battery is noticeably drained, squeezing (Y/N) more and more protectively against his body.

By the time they reach Hashirama's house, the Hokage no longer wants anything to do with anyone.

"Ayoooooo! Tobi! You made it!" his older brother waits for them sitting at the door, like a little kid waiting for his dad to come home from work. The problem is, Hashirama is not a child, and not little one either. He pounces on the two, wrapping his arms around them and pressing their faces to his chest, invasive and effusive as always but enhanced by (Y/N)'s presence.

"Aaaa! (Y/N)! Finally released from your confinement! It's so beautiful to finally meet you!" Anija lets go of him, only to squeeze her separately, give her kisses on the crown of her head and clench her cheeks like a grandmother. Yes, Hashirama could be compared to a grandmother. "Have you looked... I mean, in there? See what's in there? We could ask Izuna to-"

"No."

"But-"

"No. It's a surprise." Tobirama pulls (Y/N) out of his arms, and hugging her enters the house he knows by heart. He heads straight for the courtyard, where he knows Hashirama (who comes behind him with his head down and feigning sadness) enjoys afternoons of tea.

Of course, he does not expect the surprise his brother has prepared for him there.

The whole clan, the whole damn family is gathered around a huge table, different from the one Anija prefers for his solitary lunches. Sitting in the two main seats, the Uchiha brothers, who have no business in a Senju house, full of Senju men and women.

Is this what peace looks like? Graphically represented? Tobirama wants to vomit.

"TOBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" He is greeted by his entire family as a whole, and the elders soon hover over both of them. Females kidnap (Y/N) to shower her with questions and love, all a carbon copy of how Hashirama behaves but boosted to the tenth.

The albino is also abducted, but by the young men and his older brother, who seems to have regained his cheerfulness. They sit him down in front of the Uchiha brothers, and it's like sending a cow to the slaughter.

"Tobi Tobes... I didn't know your family called you like that, neither that your wife was SO pregnant... He hides too many things from us, right Aniki?" Izuna starts, as usual, not missing a chance to poke him with whatever comes in front of him.

"Hm."

"How many children do you have there? 3? She's... prominent!"

"Get my wife out of your mouth before I make you remember why the war existed in the first place." It's a blunt threat, and the young men around him tense up. Peace is old at this point, but the habits of a life that no longer exists are hard to forget.

"He's joking! Yes, yes, he's kidding! No tobi?" Hashirama tries to disperse the waters, and it works, at least with those who don't know them inside out. Madara knows what's coming, and so does he somehow.

"You want me to see how many are there? With the Sharingan, I mean... it's not like I actually want to get inside-"

"Izuna. Enough." Aniki tries, and succeeds until the albino glares at his little brother.

"Madara... you're blind, but if only could you see the size of that woman's belly..."

"IZUNA!" This time it's Hashirama, who gets indignant every time the Uchiha speaks so lightly about his brother's eye condition. Maybe it's the way they both have of cooperating with the situation, but it's still terrible in his ears.

The Uchiha leader chuckles under his breath, and it's all the validation Izuna needs to go on.

"So, what do you say, Tobi Tobes, want to check it out?" and before he can activate his Dōjutsu, two huge branches stop them both. Tobirama, who was in the process of pulling out a kunai and jumping to his throat, is imprisoned in his seat. Izuna, about to reveal the mystery the couple wanted to keep, has a huge trunk wrapped around his head in the eye area.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too."

"Fuck all of you guys." And everyone turns around in surprise, because this time it's (Y/N) doing the talking. She puts a hand on her husband's shoulder, dodging the wood on him, and gives a pleasant smile to the Uchiha brothers. "We'll find out how many children are here at the time of delivery, for the time being, I appreciate your efforts, Lord Izuna."